THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


From  the  collection  of 
Julius  Doerner,  Chicago 
Purchased,  1918. 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/ninthtenthanniveOOmoun 


FEBRUARY  22,  1353. 


©IE3SHIB  ©IF  IBZQIBCSlISIBSo 


MUSIC. 


Salutatory 


F.  ZACHARIE,  La. 


MUSIC. 


C.  HERRICK,  N.  Y Thanatopsis 

J.  KENT,  Pa “ When  I am  old” 

E.  LEVERICH,  N.  Y Bunker  Hill 

C.  ROSER,  Ga Le  Due  de  Rohan  a ses  Soldats 

( French .) 

H.  PEARCE,  R.  I Giles  Cory’s  Dream 

O.  SCHMIDT,  N.  Y Fame 

MUSIC. 


L.  DA  SILVA, 

T.  ZACHARIE, 
N.  WRIGHT, 

M.  SORREL, 


D.  A.  BOKEE, 


Brazil Le  Genie  des  Tempetes 

( Original  French  Translation.) 

La. “ Little  at  first,  but  Great  at  last” 

N.  Y - Hungary 

Ga ( Original  Latin  Translation  from 

Hilliard’s  Eulogy  of  Webster.) 

N.  Y Honor  to  Woman 

C.  L.  SCHLATTER,  N.  Y. The  Jewish  Pilgrim 

W.  SLIDELL,  La Discours  de  Micipsa  a Jugurtha 

( Original  French  Translation  from  Latin.) 


m 


.pXount  pleasant  &tatrem£. 


MUSIC. 


•f  C.  MAURICE, 

N.  Y 

F.  KENT, 

Pa 

The  Unknown  Ships 

(SJ 

G.  GRANT, 

N.  Y 

( Original  French  Translation .) 

II.  MILLIKIN, 

La 

S.  GILMAN, 

N.  Y. 

% 

A.  STODDARD, 

Ga. .... ....  .. 

MUSIC. 


LANGUAGES. 

Introduction. ...by  R.  Barker,  N.  Y. 

The  Greek B.  Lee,  N Y. 

The  Latin W.  Slidell,  La. 

The  French F.  Zacharie,  La. 

The  German T.  Emanuel,  Ala. 

The  English M.  Sorrel,  Ga. 

Decision  by  the  presiding  Judge— C.  Minturn,  N.  Y. 

MUSIC. 


Wtntlj  &nmbcrsar£ 

185  3. 


^ 1 'Xvv  2 © GuMJl^tlL 


3 '11-43 


To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A various  language  ; for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a voice  of  gladness,  and  a smile, 

And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a mild 
And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.  When 
thoughts 

Of  the  last  hitter  hour  come  like  a blight 

Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart ; — 
Go  forth  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature’s  teachings.  . . . 

The  golden  sun, 

The  planets,  ail  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.  All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.  Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 


Ntnti)  ^nmbersarj? 


1 853. 


700074 


his  own 
there  ; 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep, — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 
So  shalt  thou  rest ; — and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 
Unnoticed  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?  All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.  The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ; yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall 
come 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.  As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 

The  youth  in  life’s  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron,  and  maid, 
The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant  in  the  smiles 
And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off, — 

Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 

By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that,  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 

Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave,  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon;  but,  sustained  and 
soothed 

By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


&»mbersar£. 


When  I am  old, — and  0 ! how  soon 
Will  life’s  sweet  morning  yield  to  noon, 
And  noon’s  broad,  fervid,  earnest  light 
Be  shaded  in  the  solemn  night ; 

Till  like  a story  well  nigh  told, 

Will  seem  my  life,  when  I am  old. 

When  I am  old — this  breezy  earth 
Will  lose  for  me  its  voice  of  mirth ; 

The  streams  will  have  an  under-tone 
Of  sadness,  not  by  right  their  own  ; 

And  Spring’s  sweet  power  in  vain  unfold 
Its  rosy  charms,  when  I am  old. 

When  I am  old — my  friends  will  be 
Old,  and  infirm,  and  b;  wed,  like  me ; 

Or  else,  their  bodies  ’neath  the  sod, 

Their  spirits  dwelling  safe  with  God : 
The  old  church  bell  will  long  have  tolled 
Above  the  rest,  when  I am  old. 

When  I am  old — I’d  rather  bend 
Thus  sadly  o’er  each  buried  friend, 

Than  see  them  lose  the  earnest  truth 
That  marks  the  friendship  of  our  youth  : 
’Twill  be  so  sad  to  have  them  cold, 

Or  strange  to  me,  when  I am  old. 

When  I am  old — O ! how  it  seems 
Like  the  wild  lunacy  of  dreams, 

To  picture  in  prophetic  rhyme 
That  dim  far-distant  shadowy  time : 


Kinti)  ^nntbcrcari>. 

1 8 53. 


When  I am  old — perhaps  ere  then 
I shall  be  missed  from  haunts  of  men  ; 
Perhaps  my  dwelling  may  be  found 
Beneath  that  green  and  quiet  mound ; 
My  name  by  stranger  hands  enrolled 
Among  the  dead,  when  I am  old. 

Ere  I am  old — O ! let  me  give 
My  life  to  learning  how  to  live ; 

Then  shall  I meet  with  willing  heart 
An  early  summons  to  depart, 

Or  find  my  lengthened  days  consoled 
By  God’s  sweet  peace,  when  I am  old. 


BUNKER  HILL. 

It  was  a starry  night  in  June, 

The  air  was  soft  and  still, 

When  the  “ minute-men”  from  Cambridge  came, 
And  gathered  on  the  hill ; 

Beneath  us  lay  the  sleeping  town, 

Around  us  frowned  the  fleet, 

And  the  pulse  of  freemen,  not  of  slaves, 

Within  our  bosoms  beat, 

And  every  heart  rose  high  with  hope, 

As  fearlessly  we  said, 

“We  will  be  numbered  with  the  free, 

“ Or  numbered  with  the  dead.” 


Bring  out  the  line  to  mark  the  trench 
And  stretch  it  on  the  sward. 


Nmtij  ^mttbersars. 


1 853. 


.ptount  pleasant  gcatrems* 


The  trench  is  marked — the  tools  are  brought- 
We  utter  not  a word, — 

But  stack  our  guns  : then  fall  to  work 
With  mattock,  and  with  spade. 

A thousand  men,  with  sinewy  arms, 

And  not  a sound  is  made ; 

So  still  were  we,  the  stars  beneath, 

That  scarce  a whisper  fell : 

We  heard  the  red-coat’s  musket  click, 

And  heard  him  cry  “All’s  well !” 

See,  how  the  mom  is  breaking — 

The  red  is  in  the  sky ! 

The  mist  is  creeping  from  the  stream, 
That  floats  in  silence  by ; 

The  Lively’s  hull  looms  through  the  fog, 
And  they  our  works  have  spied, 

For  the  ruddy  flash  and  round  shot  part 
In  thunder  from  her  side ; 

And  thus  we  waited  till  we  saw, 

At  scarce  ten  rifles’  length, 

The  old  vindictive  Saxon  spite, 

In  all  its  stubborn  strength. 

Then,  sudden,  around 

The  jagged  rampart,  burst 
From  every  gun,  the  livid  light, 

Upon  the  foe  accurst. 

Then  quailed  a monarch’s  might 
Before  a free-born  people’s  ire; 

Then  drank  the  sward  the  veteran’s  blood, 
Where  swept  the  yeoman’s  fire ; 

Then,  staggered  by  the  shot,  we  saw 
Their  serried  columns  reel. 


Ntntt)  gmubersarg. 


8 


ptount  pleasant  glcaaems. 


m 


And  fall,  as  falls  the  bearded  rye 
Beneath  the  reaper’s  steel  ; 

And  then  arose  a mighty  shout, 

That  might  have  woke  the  dead  : 

“ Hurrah  ! they  run — the  field  is  won !” 

“ Hurrah  ! the  foe  has  fled  !” 

And  every  man  hath  dropped  his  gun, 

To  clutch  his  neighbor’s  hand, 

As  his  heart  kept  praying  all  the  while, 
For  Home,  and  Native  Land. 

Thrice  on  that  day  we  stood  the  shock 
Of  thrice  a thousand  foes ; 

And  thrice  that  day,  within  our  lines, 

The  shout  of  victory  rose. 

And  though  our  swift  fire  slackened  then, 
And,  reddening  in  the  skies, 

We  saw,  from  roofs  and  walls, 

The  flaming  columns  rise, 

Yet,  while  we  had  a cartridge  left, 

We  still  maintained  the  fight, 

Nor  gained  the  foe  one  foot  of  ground 
Upon  that  blood-stained  height. 

What  though  for  us  no  laurels  bloom, 

Nor  o’er  the  nameless  brave 
No  sculptured  trophy,  scroll,  or  hatch, 
Records  a warrior’s  grave, — 

What  though  to  us  the  day  was  lost, — 
Upon  that  deathless  page 
The  everlasting  charter  stands, 

For  every  land  and  age : 

For  man  hath  broke  his  felon  bonds, 

And  cast  them  in  the  dust, 


\ rj} 


Jttount  pleasant  &ratrrm» 


And  claimed  his  heritage  divine — 
And  justified  the  trust ; 

While  through  his  rifted  prison  bars 
'I  he  hues  of  Freedom  pour 
O’er  every  nation,  race,  and  clime, 


O’er  every  sea  and  shore, 

Such  glories  as  the  Patriarch  viewed, 
When,  ’mid  the  darkest  skies, 

He  saw,  above  a ruined  world, 

The  Bow  of  Promise  rise. 


LE  DUO  DE  ROHAN  A SES  SOLD  ATS. 

Soldats  ! Nous  avons  passe  par  des  lieux  pres- 
que  inaccessibles  pour  venir  dans  cette  vallee : 
nous  y sommes  enfermes  de  tous  cotes.  Voila 
l’armee  imperiale  qui  se  met  en  bataille  devant 
nous;  les  Grisons  sont  derriere  qui  n’attendent 
que  l’gvenement  de  cette  journee  pour  nous  char- 
ger, si  nous  tournons  le  dos.  Les  Valtelins  ne 
sont  pas  moins  disposes  a achever  ce  qui  restera 
de  nous. 

Ne  pensez  done  pas  a la  retraite,  car  vous 
n’avez  qu’a  lever  les  yeux  pour  en  voir  toute  l’im- 
possibilite ; ce  ne  sont,  de  tous  cotes,  que  preci- 
pices insurmontables,  de  sorte  que  notre  salut  de- 
pend de  notre  seul  courage. 

Pour  l’amour  de  Dieu  ! mes  amis,  tandis  que 
les  armes  de  notre  roi  triomphent  partout  avec 
tant  d’eclat,  ne  souffrons  pas  qu’elles  eprouvent 
un  echec  entre  nos  mains  ; faisons,  par  une  ge- 
nereuse  resolution,  que  ce  petit  vallon,  presque 


Ntntlj  ilmttbersarg. 

1 6 5 3. 


t 


10 


inconnu  au  monde,  devienne  considerable  a la 
posterite,  et  soit  aujourd’hui  le  theatre  de  notre 
gloire. 

Allons,  enfants,  suivez-moi  a la  victoire,  et 
vive  la  France ! ! 


GILES  CORY’S  DREAM. 

Giles  Cory  lay  in  Salem  gaol — 

A stubborn  wizzard  he ; 

Dame  Cory  slumbered  by  his  side — 

A guilty  witch  was  she. 

And  as  they  lay,  one  Sunday  morn, 

All  in  their  place  of  shame, 

Giles  Cory  had  a troubled  dream, 

And  told  it  to  his  dame. 

“ My  good  wife  dear,  I’ve  dream’d  a dream. 
All  through  the  live-long  night ; 

And  coming  things  were  shown  to  me 
In  vision  clear  and  bright. 

“ I dream’d  a hundred  years  were  past. 
And  sixty  more  were  gone, 

And  then  I stood  a living  man — 

Alas  ! I stood  alone. 

“ I was  among  strange  phantoms  there — 
No  living  soul  I knew ; 

And  you  would  hardly  wonder,  Dame, 
’Twas  eighteen  fifty-two. 

“ Full  soon  I saw  that  I had  come 
Amongst  a race  of  witches ; 


Wtntfj  &ttmbersar£. 


iRSotwt  pleasant  ^catremg. 


KCntf)  ^nntbcrsarw 


For  every  man  I looked  upon 
Was  destitute  of  breeches.” 

“ Fye — oh,  fye  !”  said  Goody  Cory, 

(And  sharply  spake  the  dame, 

“ That  you  should  look  upon  them  thus — 
I blush  for  very  shame.” 

“Pray  hear  me  out,  impatient  wife — 
For  know,  these  wizzard  coons, 

Although  they  had  no  breeches  on, 

Were  clothed  with  pantaloons. 

“And  ah,  how  queer  the  women  look’d ! 
’Twould  waken  your  compassion, 

To  see  what  awkward  clothes  they  wore, 
So  strangely  out  of  fashion. 

“ I saw  a man  pull  all  his  teeth — 

It  took  him  but  a minute ; 

He  oped  his  mouth,  and  put  them  back — 

I thought  the  deuce  was  in  it. 

“ A limping  man  had  lost  a leg, 

A wooden  one  had  he 

To  tell  which  leg  the  man  had  lost, 

Was  quite  too  much  for  me. 

“ I saw  a man  cut  off  a limb. 

The  surgeon’s  knife  all  gory, 

But  yet  the  patient  felt  no  pain 
“ ’Tis  false  !”  said  Goody  Cory. 

“ ’Twas  in  my  dream  I saw  it,  dame, 

I saw  him  take  the  stitches 

And  then  I knew  I’d  fell  among 
A race  of  real  witches. 


“ I met  a man  who’d  lost  an  eye, 
And  chose  to  have  another  ; 

He  bought  one  at  the  nearest  shop, 
Just  like  its  living  brother. 


“ I had  a raging  tooth  to  draw, 

(To  you  ’twill  seem  a fable  ;) 

I went  to  sleep,  and  then  awoke, 
And  found  it  on  the  table.” 

“ I don’t  believe  a word  you  say,” 
Said  faithless  Goody  Cory ; 

“Just  show  this  molar  tooth  to  me, 
And  I’ll  believe  your  story  !” 

Quoth  Giles  unto  his  wife  again — 
(’Tis  thus  to  me  it  seems :) 

“ How  often  have  I told  you,  dame, 
’Twas  in  the  land  of  dreams? 

“ I looked  upon  this  wizzard  race 
With  still  increasing  wonder ; 

They  drew  the  lightning  from  the 
And  bottled  up  the  thunder. 


:ky, 


“ They  carried  news  by  lightning  teams ; 

Made  portraits  with  the  sun ; 

Used  cotton  for  their  gunpowder, 

To  charge  the  sporting  gun. 

“A  magic  substance  they  have  found, 
And  some  ingenious  lubber 
Makes  every  thing  (save  consciences,) 
Of  Patent  India  Rubber. 

“ To  light  their  home  with  flaming  air, 
The  elements  they  torture  ; 


Hrntf)  &untbersar» 

18  53. 


ifftouttt  pleasant  glcatrnng 


And  hope  to  get,  by  taking  Paine’s, 

Their  candle-light  from  water. 

“ I told  them  that  to  see  the  world, 

I had  a strong  desire  ; 

They  took  me  off  in  vapory  cloud, 

And  chariot  of  fire  ! 

“ Full  forty  miles  an  hour  they  go, 

By  power  of  nought  but  steam  ; 

And  ships  with  wheels  go  swift” — “ ’Tis  false !” 
Said  Goody,  with  a scream. 

Quoth  Giles,  “ Remember,  my  good  wife, 

’Tis  a prophetic  gleam — 

I do  not  speak  my  waking  thoughts, 

I only  tell  my  dream. 

“ I pondered  on  these  sorceries, 

And  thought  them  Witchcraft  sins  ; 

But  marvelled  why,  like  Witchcraft  now, 
They  did  not  prick  with  pins  ! 

“ I saw  these  wizzards  gather  round, 

To  listen  to  a tapping ; 

In  wide-mouth  wonder  swallow  all 
The  witchery  of  rapping. 

“It  was,  I own,  with  humble  shame. 

A mystery  to  me, 

That  souls  in  bliss  should  come  to  Earth, 

To  say  their  ABC. 

“ Oh,  what  a miracle  sublime  ! 

It  shows  the  world’s  advance, 

When  spirits  leave  their  bright  abode, 

To  make  a table  dance. 


Nuitfj  gmrtbfrsarst 


14 

Jtaount  pleasant  0catrrmM. 


“ Amazed,  I saw  how  calm  they  were 
With  all  this  spirit-rising ; 

They  only  called  these  magic  arts 
A kind  of  magnetizing. 


“ So  none  for  witchcraft  met  the  fate 
Of  Pharaoh’s  luckless  baker 
Nor  did  they  seek  to  drive  or  scourge 
A Baptist  or  a Quaker. 


“ I went  into  a dwelling-house — 
I ransacked  every  room — 

I could  not  find  a spinning-wheel, 
Nor  yet  a weaver’s  loom. 


“ They  had  no  snuffers  on  the  shelf; 

The  dressers,  too,  had  flown ; 

No  pewter  plates,  wellscrubb’d  and  neat, 
In  order  brightly  shone. 


“ No  settle  by  the  kitchen  fire, 
No  sand  upon  the  floor; 

And  when  I asked  for  tinder-box 
In  laughter  they  did  roar. 


“I  looked  upon  the  hillock  green 
The  winds  were  sweeping  o’er 
And  ghostly  shadows  flitted  by, 
Of  forms  beheld  before. 


“ Remember’d  names  were  sculptured  there 
On  many  an  ancient  stone  ; 

And  one  I saw,  full  grown  with  moss — 

I looked — it  was  mv  own  ! 


“ A sudden  thrill  came  o’er  me  then 
So  fearful  did  it  seem, 


Nutti)  £litmbersar». 

1 853. 


ptount  pleasant  ^catrcmg. 


I shuddered  once,  and  then  a woke  - 
And  now  you  have  my  dream.” 


FAME. 

Of  all  the  phantoms  fleeting  in  the  mist 
Of  Time,  though  meagre  all,  and  ghostly  thin. 
Most  unsubstantial,  unessential  shade, 

Was  earthly  Fame.  She  was  a voice  alone, 

And  dwelt  upon  the  noisy  tongues  of  men. 

She  never  thought,  but  gabbled  ever  on  ; 
Applauding  most  what  least  deserved  applause. 
The  motive,  the  result,  was  nought  to  her : 

The  deed  alone,  though  dyed  in  human  gore, 
And  steeped  in  widows’  tears,  if  it  stood  out 
To  prominent  display,  she  talked  of  much, 

And  roared  around  it  with  a thousand  tongues. 
As  changed  the  wind  her  organ,  so  she  changed 
Perpetually  ; and  whom  she  praised  to-day, 
Vexing  his  ear  with  acclamations  loud, 
To-morrow  blamed,  and  hissed  him  out  of  sight. 
Such  was  her  nature,  and  her  practice  such : 

But,  oh  ! her  voice  was  sweet  to  mortal  ears, 

And  touched  so  pleasantly  the  strings  of  pride 
And  vanity,  which  in  the  heart  of  man 
Were  ever  strung  harmonious  to  her  note, 

That  many  thought,  to  live  without  her  song 
Was  rather  death  than  life.  To  live  unknown, 
Unnoticed,  unrenowned,  to  die  unpraised, 


i^lount  pleasant  &catnm£, 


Such  thought  was  cold  about  the  heart,  and  chill’d 
The  blood.  Who  could  endure  it?  who  could  choose 
Without  a struggle  to  be  swept  away, 

From  all  remembrance,  and  have  part  no  more 
With  living  men. 

Philosophy  failed  here,  and  self-approving  pride ; 
Hence  it  became 

The  aim  of  most,  and  main  pursuit,  to  win 
A name,  to  leave  some  vestige  as  they  passed, 
That  following  ages  might  discern  they  once 
Had  been  on  earth,  and  acted  something  there. 
Many  the  roads  they  took,  the  plans  they  tried, 
But  all  in  vain.  Who  grasp’d  at  earthly  Fame, 
Grasp’d  wind  ; nay,  worse,  a serpent  grasp’d,  that 
through 

His  hands  slid  smoothly,  and  was  gone,  but  left 
A sting  behind,  which  brought  him  endless  pain  : 
For  oft  her  voice  was  old  Abandon’s  lure, 

By  which  he  charmed  the  foolish  soul  to  death. 


LE  GENIE  DES  TEMPETES. 

O nation,  la  plus  temeraire  de  toutes  les  na- 
tions ! Yous,  indomptables  guerriers,  vous,  navi- 
gateurs  infatiguables,  vous  osez  maintenant  pene- 
trer  dans  ces  vastes  mers  dont  je  suis  le  gardien, 
dans  ces  vastes  mers  qui  n’ont  jamais  ete  sillon- 
nees ! Puisque  vous  voulez  arracher  a la  nature 
les  secrets  de  I’humide  element,  eh  bien,  mortels 
temeraires  ! apprenez  les  maux  qui  vous  sont  re- 
serves sur  cette  mer  orageuse  et  sur  les  terres  loin- 
taines  que  vous  soumettrez  par  la  guerre. 


Nfintl)  Sttimbersars. 


l S 5 3. 


JtHoimt  pleasant  ^calremg. 


Malheur  aux  vaisseaux  assez  hardis  pour  s’e- 
lancer  sur  vos  traces  ! Je  dechainerai  contre  eux 
les  vents  et  les  tempetes.  Malheur  a la  flotte  qui 
viendra  braver  mon  pouvoir  ! A peine  aura-t-elle 
paru  sur  mes  ondes,  qu’elle  sera  engloutie  dans 
les  dots.  Je  signalerai  surtout  ma  vengeance  sur 
le  premier  navigateur  qui  m’est  venu  braver  dans 
ma  demeure.  Mes  yeux  peuvent  lire  dans  le 
livre  des  destins,  et  j’y  lis  que  chaque  annee  ra- 
menera  pour  vous  de  nouveaux  naufrages,  et  que 
la  mort  sera  le  moindre  de  vos  maux. 

Le  ciel  a decide  qu’un  heros,  longtemps  cou- 
ronne  par  la  victoire,  deposera  ici  non  seulement 
ses  trophees  conquis  sur  la  flotte  ottomane,  mais 
payera  meme  de  sa  vie  la  destruction  de  Quiloa 
et  de  Momba9a,  et  trouvera  ici  une  sepulture 
eternelle. 

Un  autre  guerrier,  sensible  a l’amour  et  a la 
gloire,  amenera  ici  la  beaute  que  son  coeur  aura 
choisie.  Quelle  aflreuse  destinee  les  attend  sur 
ces  rivages  ! Ils  survivront  a leur  naufrage, 
mais  ils  eprouveront  d’inexprimables  soufFrances. 
Leurs  malheureux  enfants,  devores  par  la  faim, 
expireront  sous  leurs  yeux  : leur  mere  infortunee, 
depouillee  par  les  Cafres  feroces  et  avares,  sera 
exposee  a l’inclemence  des  airs  et  foulera  de  ses 
pieds  delicats  les  sables  brulants  de  ces  contrees. 
Bientot,  suivie  de  son  epoux,  elle  fuira  dans  l’e- 
paisseur  des  forets.  La,  les  deux  amants  refugies 
dans  les  bras  Pun  de  Pautre,  exhaleront  ensemble 
leur  dernier  soupir,  et  le  recit  de  leurs  maux  fera 
fremir  d’horreur  les  habitants  des  rives  du  Tage. 


NttUi)  gluntbersari?. 


$flount  pleasant  gRa&emtt. 


LITTLE  AT  FIRST,  BUT  GREAT  AT  LAST 

A traveller  through  a dusty  road, 

Strewed  acorns  on  the  lea ; 

And  one  took  root,  and  sprouted  up, 

And  grew  into  a tree. 

Love  sought  its  shade  at  even-time 
To  breathe  its  early  vows, 

And  Age  was  pleased,  in  heats  of  noon. 

To  bask  beneath  its  boughs ; 

The  dormouse  loved  its  dangling  twigs, 
The  birds  sweet  music  bore, 

It  stood,  a glory  in  its  place, 

A blessing  evermore. 

A little  spring  had  lost  its  way 
Among  the  grass  and  fern ; 

A passing  stranger  scooped  a well, 

Where  weary  men  might  turn. 

He  walled  it  in,  and  hung  with  care 
A ladle  at  the  bush. 

He  thought  not  of  the  deed  he  did, 

But  judged  that  toil  might  drink. 

He  passed  again — and  lo  ! the  well, 

By  summers  never  dried, 

Had  cooled  ten  thousand  parching  tongues, 
And  saved  a life  beside. 


A nameless  man,  (amid  a crowd 
That  thronged  the  daily  mart,) 
Let  fall  the  word  of  hope  and  love 
Unstudied  from  the  heart : 


glmubersars* 

1 853. 


A whisper  on  the  tumult  thrown — 
A transitory  breath. 

It  raised  a brother  from  the  dust. 

It  saved  a soul  from  death. 

O germ  ! O fount ! O word  of  love  ! 

O thought  at  random  cast ! 

Ye  were  but  little  at  the  first, 

But  mighty  at  the  last. 


Ptouut  pleasant  ^catrcma. 


HUNGARY. 


Dead  on  the  plain  her  warriors  lie, 

Their  battle  shouts  are  o’er ; 

No  more  the  loud  bucinna  rings 
From  hill  to  cliff-crowned  shore  : 
Triumphant  shouts  of  victory 
Above  her  fallen  brave, 

Vanquished  at  last  beneath  the  foe, 

Her  banners  drink  the  wave. 

From  Zara  to  the  Danube’s  side, 

Leagued  with  the  wily  Croat, 

Where’er  the  despot’s  shadow  falls, 

The  Austrian  eagles  float ; 

Their  horsemen,  backed  by  sword  and  crown, 
In  conquering  marches  tread, 

Alike  o’er  Hungary’s  struggling  sons, 

And  o’er  her  martyred  dead. 

Twelve  times  the  treacherous  tyrants  swore, 
In  God’s  eternal  name, 

To  guard  in  equity  and  peace 
Her  pure  and  noble  fame ; 


Ntntij  gtontbersars 


1853. 


Twelve  times  the  kingly  oaths  were  broke- 
Still  burned  the  accursed  brand — 

Till  from  their  hills  they  armed  to  strike 
Her  name  from  out  the  land. 

Then  rose  the  wild  avenging  cry, 

As  sweeps  the  tempest’s  roar, 

“ The  house  of  Hapsburg  is  foresworn, 

Her  kings  shall  rule  no  more.” 

Swift  to  their  fiery  battle  steeds 
Her  bounding  warriors  sprung ; 

O’er  cliff,  and  hill,  and  rocky  steep, 

The  Magyar  war-song  rung. 

But  for  the  coward  traitor  hearts 
Who  bent  the  servile  knee, 

And  dimmed  in  treason’s  cloudy  rays 
The  star  of  Liberty, 

The  sword  once  wakened  from  its  sheath, 
Had  never  fought  in  vain, 

The  invader’s  hostile  ranks  had  fled — 

Her  borders  heaped  with  slain. 

u Not  always  to  the  swift  the  race, 

The  battle  to  the  strong,” 

Nor  always  frowns  the  cause  of  right 
Triumphant  over  wrong : 

Yet,  doomed  and  fallen  Hungary, 

Thy  sons  bleed  not  in  vain ! 

High  o’er  the  midnight  of  thy  woe 
Morning  shall  rise  again  ! 

Once  more  shall  Justice  be  enthroned; 

The  vassal’s  chains  shall  fall — 

Once  more  a fearful  cry  must  break 


Ntntij  &nmbcrsar». 


Si- 


i&ount  pleasant  glcartrms. 


Through  Austria’s  princely  hall — 
Once  more  her  sons  must  share  the  fight, 


O,  Patriot  Chief,  with  thee  ! 


And  God,  the  God  of  hosts,  shall  win 
The  battle  for  the  free. 


HONOUR  TO  WOMAN. 

Honour  to  Woman  ! To  her  it  is  given 

To  guard  the  earth  with  the  roses  of  heaven ! 

All  blessed,  she  linketh  the  Loves  in  their  choir; 

In  the  veil  of  the  Graces  her  beauty  concealing, 

She  tends  on  each  altar  that’s  hallow’d  to  Feeling, 
And  keeps  ever-living  the  fire. 

From  the  bounds  of  Truth  careering, 

Man’s  strong  spirit  mildly  sweeps, 

With  each  hasty  impulse  veering, 

Down  to  Passion’s  troubled  deeps, 

And  his  heart,  contented  never, 

Greeds  to  grapple  with  the  far, 

Chasing  his  own  dream  forever, 

On  through  many  a distant  star ! 

But  woman,  with  looks  that  can  charm  and 
enchain, 

Lureth  back  at  her  beck  the  wild  truant  again, 
By  the  spell  of  her  presence  beguiled ; 

In  the  home  of  the  mother  her  modest  abode, 

And  modest  the  manner  by  nature  bestowed, 

On  Nature’s  most  exquisite  child ! 

Bruised  and  worn,  but  fiercely  breasting, 

Foe  to  foe,  the  angry  strife ; 


Nmti)  Stombersarg* 

1853. 


J&ount  pleasant  &catrem£. 


Man,  the  wild  one,  never  resting, 

Roams  along  the  troubled  life ; 

What  he  planneth  still  pursuing, 

Vainly  as  the  hydra  bleeds, 

Crest  the  sever’d  crest  renewing — 

Wish  to  wither’d  wish  succeeds. 

But  woman,  at  peace  with  all  being,  reposes, 

And  seeks  from  the  moment  to  gather  the  roses 
Whose  sweets  to  her  culture  belong ; 

Ah  ! richer  than  he,  tho’  his  soul  reigneth  o’er 
The  mighty  dominion  of  Genius  and  Lore, 

And  the  infinite  circle  of  Song. 

Strong,  and  proud,  and  self-depending, 

Man’s  cold  bosom  beats  alone, 

Heart  with  heart  divinely  blending, 

In  the  love  that  gods  have  known; 

Soul’s  sweet  interchange  of  feeling, 

Melting  tears, — he  never  knows  ; 

Each  hard  sense  the  hard  one  steeling, 

Arms  against  a world  of  foes. 

Alive  as  the  wind-harp,  how  lightly  soever, 

If  woo’d  by  the  zephyr,  to  music  will  quiver, 

Is  woman  to  Hope  and  to  Fear ; 

Ah  ! tender  one,  still  at  the  shadow  of  grieving, 
How  quiver  the  chords,  how  thy  bosom  is  heaving, 
How  trembles  thy  glance  through  the  tear ! 

Man’s  dominion,  war  and  labour ; 

Might  to  right,  the  statute  gave  ; 

Laws  are  in  the  Scythian’s  sabre; 

Where  the  Mede  reign’d,  see  the  slave ! 
Peace  and  Meekness  grimly  routing, 


Wmttj  &umbers3r£ 

1 85  3. 

* 


J'  ^ "c/x-Yo 


JtSouut  pleasant  ^catremg 


Prowls  the  War-lust  rude  and  wild; 

Eris  rages,  hoarsely  shouting, 

Where  the  vanish’d  Graces  smiled. 

But  woman,  the  soft  one,  persuasively  prayeth, 
Of  the  life  that  she  charmeth,  the  sceptre  she 
swayeth ; 

She  lulls,  as  she  looks  from  above, 

The  Discord  whose  hell  for  its  victims  is  gaping, 
And  blending  awhile  the  forever  escaping, 
Whispers  Hate  to  the  image  of  Love. 


THE  JEWISH  PILGRIM. 

Are  these  the  ancient  holy  hills, 

Where  angels  walked  of  old  ? 

Is  this  the  land  our  story  fills 
With  glory  not  yet  cold  ? 

For  I have  passed  by  many  a shrine, 

O’er  many  a land  and  sea  ; 

Yet  still,  O promised  Palestine, 

My  dream  hath  been  of  thee. 

I’ve  seen  thy  mountain  beauteous  green, 
Thy  valleys  fresh  and  fair, 

With  summers  bright  as  they  have  been, 
When  Israel’s  home  was  there. 

Tho’  o’er  thee  sword  and  time  have  passed, 
And  cross  and  crescent  shone, 

And  heavily  the  chain  hath  pressed, 


1 85  3. 


Blount  pleasant  &catrem» 


Whose  blood  hath  stained  the  polar  snow. 

And  quenched  the  desert  sand ; 

And  thine  the  homeless  hearts  that  turn 
From  all  earth’s  shrines  to  thee, 

With  their  lone  faith  for  ages  borne 
In  sleepless  memory. 

For  thrones  are  fallen  and  nations  gone 
Before  the  march  of  Time, 

And  where  the  ocean  rolled  before 
Are  forests  in  their  prime. 

Since  Gentile  ploughshares  marred  the  brow 
Of  Zion’s  holy  hill, 

Where  are  the  Roman  eagles  now  ? 

Yet  Judith  wanders  still. 

And  hath  she  wandered  thus  in  vain, 

A pilgrim  of  the  past? 

No  ! long  deferred  her  hope  hath  been, 

But  it  shall  come  at  last. 

For  in  her  wastes  a voice  I hear, 

As  from  some  prophet’s  urn, 

It  bids  the  nations  harbour  here, 

For  Jacob  shall  return. 

O ! lost  and  loved  Jerusalem, 

Thy  pilgrim  may  not  stay 
To  see  the  glad  earth’s  harvest  home 
In  thy  redeeming  day  ; 

But  now  resigned  in  faith  and  trust, 

1 seek  a nameless  tomb, 

At  least  beneath  thy  hallowed  dust, 


jfHount  pleasant 


DISCO  CRS  DE  MICIPSA  A JUGURTHA. 


Tu  etais  encore  tout  petit,  Jugurtha,  et  la  perte 
de  ton  royaume  t’avait  laisse  sans  avenir,  sans 
fortune,  quand  je  t’approchai  de  mon  trone,  bien 
persuade  qu’a  raison  de  mes  bienfaits,  je  ne  te  se- 
rais pas  moins  cher  qu’a  mes  propres  enfants,  si 
je  venais  a en  avoir ; mon  esperance  n’a  pas  ete 
trompee.  En  effet,  sans  parler  de  tant  d’autres 
hauts  faits,  ton  recent  retour  a Numance  a repen- 
du  sur  moi  et  sur  mon  royaume  le  plus  glorieux 
eclat : par  ta  valeur  tu  as  resserre  de  la  maniere 
la  plus  etroite  le  lien  de  notre  amitie  avec  les  Ro- 
mains ; tu  as  fait  briber  de  nouveau  en  Espagne 
le  nom  de  notre  famille ; enfin,  ce  qu’il  y a de 
plus  difficile  au  monde,  par  ta  gloire  tu  as  impose 
silence  a l’envie. 

Maintenant,  puisque  la  nature  va  mettre  fin  a 
ma  vie,  je  te  prie  par  cette  main  que  je  t’abandonne, 
je  te  supplie  par  la  majeste  meme  de  la  royaute, 
je  te  conjure  de  cherir  toujours  mes  enfants,  tes 
proches  par  la  naissance,  tes  freres  par  adoption. 

Prends  bien  garde  aussi  de  ne  pas  accorder  ton 
affection  a des  etrangers,  au  lieu  de  l’accorder  a 
ceux  qui  te  sont  unis  par  le  sang,  Les  vrais  ap- 
puis  de  la  royaute  ne  sont  ni  les  armees  ni  les 
tresors,  mais  ce  sont  les  amis  ; les  amis  dont  l’af- 
fection  ne  s’acquiert  point  par  la  force  des  armes^ 
ni  ne  s’achete  point  au  prix  de  l’or,  mais  s’obtient 
par  les  bons  offices  et  la  loyaute  ; or,  quel  ami 
plus  sur  qu’un  frere  pour  son  frere  ! Quel  de- 
voument  pourras-tu  trouver  dans  un  etranger  si 
tu  deviens  l’ennemi  de  ta  famille  ! 


1 853. 


$aouut  pleasant  ^catremn 


Je  vous  laisse  un  trone  vraiment  inebranlable 
si  vous  etes  unis,  mais  chancelant  si  vous  cessez 
de  l’etre,  car  les  plus  petits  Etats  grandissent  par 
la  concorde,  et  les  plus  puissants  perissent  par  la 
discorde.  Du  reste,  c’est  a toi,  plus  qu’a  mes  en- 
fants,  a toi,  Jugurtha,  qui  as  sur  eux  la  superiori- 
te  de  Page  et  de  l’experience,  qu’il  appartient  de 
pourvoir  a ce  qu’il  n’arrive  rien  de  facheux,  d’au- 
tant  plus  que  dans  toute  lutte,  le  plus  puissant, 
fut-il  offense,  passe  pour  l’agresseur  par  cela  seul 
qu’il  peut  davantage. 


TRIBUTE  TO  D.  WEBSTER. 


Boom  on  ! thou  melancholy  minute-gun, 

Boom  on ! 

And  toll,  thou  solemn  bell ! 

To  sorrowing  hearts  your  story  tell — 

Ye  bid  the  Nation  robes  of  mourning  don  ; 

Her  statesman’s  course  is  run  ! 

Down  through  the  still,  pure  air 

Of  this  clear  mom, 

The  stricken  leaves  are  floating  everywhere, 
Stripping  each  blithe  young  tree,  each  aged  thorn, 
Autumn,  with  fingers  chill,  retakes  his  vestments 
fair ! 

Boom  on,  thou  melancholy  gun, 

And  toll,  sad  bell. 

A glorious  life  hath  faded  with  the  leaves — 

A people  for  its  benefactor  grieves ; 

At  height  of  hope,  death  ruthlessly  bereaves  ; 

Ring  on,  thou  tribute  knell ! 


Mutfj  &utiibersarj?. 


1 853. 


Not  for  a hero’s  rest, 

Thou  mournful  gun, 

Not  o’er  the  shivered  sword  and  trampled  crest, 
And  carnage  done ; 

O ! not  for  thee,  thou  deep-toned  bell, 

Thy  heavy  tidings  swell ! 

His  nobler  fields  were  won 
Where  peace  serenely  sat 
In  halls  of  loftiest  state — 

Where  Faith  and  Honor  wait 
To  guard  the  massive  gate ; 

And  he  expires, 

Amid  his  household  band, 

Propped  by  Affection’s  tenderest  hand, 

Beside  Home’s  altar  fires  ! 


Calmly  to  welcome  rest, 

Life’s  labors  done, 

Sinks  on  Columbia’s  breast, 

Her  honored  son ! 

The  trappings  of  her  woe, 

From  east  to  farthest  west, 

Her  drooping  soon  will  show  ; 

From  north  to  south  thy  voice  shall  go, 

Thou  melancholy  gun  ! 

Thy  funeral  notes,  O dreary  hell, 

Shall  swing  through  many  a distant  dell ! 
And  beat  with  startling  throbs  the  air, 

O’er  crowded  marts — o’er  hamlets  fair, 

And  foreign  lands  will  learn  to  weep 
Such  echoes  wafted  o’er  the  deep ! 

Not  least,  where  he  will  roam  no  more, 


Nmttj  glmnbersar# 


1 8 G 3. 


fttount  pleasant  gicatremg. 


or  sounding  shore — 

The  blank  will  be  ! 

His  kindly  greeting,  ready  hand — 

His  aspect,  dignified,  yet  bland, 

His  bearing  free, 

Forever  more  are  gone  ! 

Toll  on,  sad  bell — and  thou,  stern  gun, 

Boom  on ! 

Ye  poured  his  requiem  notes  at  earliest  morn — 
And  with  the  unclouded  sun, 
His  life,  on  earth  well  done, 

In  worlds  of  light  and  joy  is  just  begun  ! 

Ours  is  the  grief — his  the  high  triumph  won. 
Peal  on  ! of  both  the  voice,  thou  signal  gun  ! 


THE  UNKNOWN  SHIPS. 

On  the  far  horizon  the  ice  fleet  rides, 

And  each  lance-like  peak  is  bright 
With  the  rainbow’s  hue,  as  the  morning  glides 
O’er  the  drifts  of  glittering  white. 

From  the  frozen  waves  of  the  Arctic  seas, 

From  the  solitude  of  snow, 

With  the  blasting  strength  of  the  north-east  breeze 
On  the  stately  icebergs  go. 

They  were  rent  away  by  the  wild  spring  tide, 
And  the  current’s  gathering  might, 

From  the  hoary  mountain’s  cracking  side, 

In  the  howling  clear  March  night. 


Nmtfj  &nmbersar» 

18  5 3. 


.ptount  pleasant  gcafrtms 


No  sound  is  heard  but  the  sea-bird’s  wail, 

And  the  fall  of  the  melting  snow, 

And  the  whistling  rush  of  the  coming  gale 
And  the  billow’s  splash  below. 

But  darkly  rises  a towering  mast 
O’er  the  iceberg’s  spectral  pride  ; 

Those  gallant  ships,  they  are  anchored  fast 
In  that  tideless  harbor’s  side., 

No  living  soul  treads  the  wind  bleached  decks, 
And  no  midnight  watch  they  keep  ; 

No  pilot  stands  at  the  helm-like  wrecks, 

They  are  drifting  down  the  deep. 

By  their  captors  dumb  they  are  borne  along ; 

But  their  bonds  melt  day  by  day ; [strong, 

For  the  wind  blows  warm,  and  the  sun  shines 
On  the  frost-bound  wanderer’s  way. 

To  the  glowing  seas  of  the  south  they  pass 
To  some  wild  and  savage  strand ; 

But  where  are  the  souls  that  they  bore,  alas  ! 
When  they  left  their  native  land  ? 

Oh  ! ask  the  stars,  and  the  winds,  and  waves — 
For  that  secret  dread  they  keep ; 

And  the  sparkling  deeps  of  the  lone  ice-caves, 
Where  the  snows  of  ages  sleep. 


REPONSE  DE  LORD  THURLOW  AU  DUC 
DE  GRAFTON. 

Je  suis  etonne  de  l’attaque  que  le  noble  Due  a 
faite  contre  moi.  Oui,  milords,  je  suis  etonne  du 


Nmtf)  gmubersarg, 

18  03. 


30 


X 


discours  de  sa  Seigneurie.  Le  noble  Due  ne  peut 
regarder  ni  devant  lui,  ni  derriere  lui,  ni  a cote  de 
lui,  sans  apercevoir  quelque  noble  Pair,  qui  ne 
soit  redevable  de  son  siege  en  cette  assemblee  a 
ses  succes  dans  une  profession  a laquelle  j’appar. 
tiens.  Le  noble  Lord  ne  sent-il  pas  qu’il  est  aussi 
honorable  pour  un'homme  de  devoir  sa  position  a 
ses  propres  succes,  que  de  la  devoir  au  liasard  ! 

Quoique  le  langage  du  noble  Due  soit  aussi  ap- 
plicable et  aussi  insultant  a ces  illustres  Lords, 
qu’il  Test  a moi-meme,  je  ne  crains  pas  d’en 
prendre  moi  seul  toute  l’application.  Personne 
n’a  plus  de  respect  que  moi  pour  la  pairie,  cepen- 
dant  je  dois  avouer,  milords,  que  la  pairie  sollici- 
tait  ma  presence,  mais  que  je  ne  sollicitais  pas  la 
pairie. 

Bien  plus,  je  pourrais  dire,  que  comme  membre 
du  parlement,  que  comme  garde  des  sceaux,  que 
comme  conseiller  particulier  de  sa  majeste,  que 
comme  grand  chancelier  d’Angleterre,  j’oserai 
me  me  dire  qu’en  maqualite  d’homme,  dignite  que 
pas  un  ne  saurait  me  refuser,  mais  dignite  que  le 
noble  Due  regarderait  comme  une  injure  si  on 
osait  faire  allusion  a sa  Seigneurie,  oui,  j’oserai 
meme  dire  qu’en  ma  qualite  d’homme  seulement, 
je  suis  en  ce  moment  aussi  respectable,  je  de- 
mande  la  permission  d’ajouter,  je  suis  en  ce  mo- 
ment aussi  respecte  que  le  plus  her  de  tous  les 
pairs,  sur  le  quel  j’abaisse  maintenant  mes  re- 
gards. 


n 


Nint$  SKnmbersnri? 

1 8 5 3. 


TO  THE  URSA  MAJOR. 

W ith  what  a stately  and  majestic  step 
That  glorious  Constellation  of  the  North 
Treads  its  eternal  circle  ! going  forth 
Its  princely  way  amongst  the  stars  in  slow 
And  silent  brightness.  Mighty  one  ! all  hail ! 

I joy  to  see  thee,  on  thy  glowing  path 
Walk,  like  some  stout  and  girded  giant — stern 
Unwearied,  resolute,  whose  toiling  foot 
Disdains  to  loiter  on  its  destined  way. 

The  other  tribes  forsake  their  midnight  track, 
And  rest  their  weary  orbs  beneath  the  wave ; 

But  thou  dost  never  close  thy  burning  eye, 

Nor  stay  thy  steadfast  step.  But  on,  still  on, 
While  systems  change,  and  suns  retire,  and  worlds 
Slumber  and  wake,  thy  ceaseless  march  proceeds. 
The  near  horizon  tempts  to  rest  in  vain. 

Thou,  faithful  sentinel,  dost  never  quit 
Thy  long-appointed  watch  ; but,  sleepless  still, 
Dost  guard  the  fixed  light  of  the  universe, 

And  bid  the  North  for  ever  know  its  place. 

Ages  have  witnessed  thy  devoted  trust, 
Unchanged,  unchanging.  When  the  sons  of  God 
Sent  forth  that  shout  of  joy,  which  rang  through 
heaven, 

And  echoed  from  the  outer  spheres  that  bound 
The  illimitable  universe, — thy  voice 
Joined  the  high  chorus  ; from  thy  radiant  orbs 
The  glad  cry  sounded,  swelling  to  His  praise, 
Who  thus  had  cast  another  sparkling  gem, 

Little,  but  beautiful,  amid  the  crowd 
Of  splendors  that  enrich  his  firmament. 


Ntnti)  ^mubcrsarm 

1 853. 

m 


mmmm- 


$8(ount  pleasant  gcalrems 


As  thou  art  now,  so  wast  thou  then,  the  same. 
Ages  have  rolled  their  course,  and  Time  grown 
gray; 

The  earth  has  gathered  to  her  womb  again, 

And  yet  again,  the  myriads,  that  were  born 
Of  her, — uncounted,  unremembered  tribes. 

The  seas  have  changed  their  beds,  the  solid  con- 
tinents 

Have  left  their  banks, — and  man’s  imperial  works, 
The  toil,  pride,  strength  of  kingdoms,  which  had 
flung 

Their  haughty  honors  in  the  face  of  heaven, 

As  if  immortal, — have  been  swept  away, — 
Shattered  and  mouldering,  buried  and  forgot. 

But  time  has  shed  no  dimness  on  thy  front, 

Nor  touched  the  firmness  of  thy  tread ; youth, 
strength, 

And  beauty,  still  are  thine, — as  clear,  as  bright, 
As  when  the  Almighty  Former  sent  thee  forth, 
Beautiful  offspring  of  his  curious  skill, 

To  watch  earth’s  northern,  and  proclaim 
The  eternal  chorus  of  Eternal  Love. 


LAUGHTER  FOR  ALL. 


Alas  ! the  glory  of  historic  page — 

The  fame  of  heroes  scarce  lives  half  an  age  ; 
How  ends  in  ridicule  the  pride  of  story ! 
Glory,  how  empty — if  it  be  but  glory  ! 
Pompey,  a mastiff,  watches  near  your  hall, 
And  bull-dog  Caesar  guards  a butcher’s  stall. 
Rivals  of  old,  they  show  the  self-same  spite  : 


Mutt)  ^umbersars* 

1853. 


I 


HJount  pleasant  ^catrems, 


Throw  them  a bone,  and  for  a bone  they  fight. 
Scipio,  the  bolt  of  war,  a vulgar  hound, 

Flies  at  a bull,  and  pins  him  to  the  ground. 
Hector,  once  Troy’s  defender,  now  a dog, 

Defends  your  cabbages  from  man  and  hog. 

Have  you  a savage  brute  you  cannot  tame? 

You  very  aptly  give  him  Nero’s  name : 

A surly  terrier,  all  night  long  he  howls,  [fowls. 
And  keeps  from  thieves  your  fleeces  and  your 
O,  mockery  of  man’s  heroic  line  ! 

Cato,  a sheep-dog  !— Brutus  worries  swine  ! 

Gods  quaff  no  nectar  now  from  golden  cups  ; 
Celestials  have  their  downs,  and  brutes  their  ups  : 
Olympus  litters  nothing  now  but  pups. 

Juno — Diana — Yenus— once  the  pets 
Of  mighty  poets,  now  of  vain  coquettes, 

Are  fondled  lap-dogs — carried  everywhere  : 

In  coach  to  church,  or  to  the  theatre. 

Should  Fate  Democritus  to  life  restore, 

To  see  so  wondrous  change,  he’d  laugh  the  more, 
And  louder  than  he  ever  laughed  before. 


THE  BATTLE. 

Heavy  and  solemn, 

A cloudy  column, 

Through  the  green  plain  they  marching  came ; 
Measureless  spread, 

Like  a table  dread, 

For  the  wild  grrm  dice  of  the  iron  game. 

Their  looks  are  bent  on  the  shaking  ground, 

And  the  heart  beats  loud  with  a knelling  sound  ! 


Ntntfj  gumbcrsara?* 


1 8 53. 


Swift  by  the  breasts  that  must  bear  the  brunt, 
Gallops  the  major  along  the  front — 

“ Halt  !” 

And,  fetter’d,  they  stand  at  the  stark  command, 
And  the  warriors  silent  halt. 


Proud  in  the  blush  of  morning  glowing, 

What  on  the  hill-top  shines  in  flowing? 

“See  you  the  foeman’s  banners  waving?” 

We  see  the  foemen’s  banners  waving : 

“ God  be  with  ye — children  and.  wife  !” 

Hark  to  the  music,  the  trumpet  and  fife — t. 

How  they  ring  through  the  ranks  which  they 
rouse  to  the  strife  : 

Thrilling  they  sound  with  their  glorious  tone — 
Thrilling  they  go  through  marrow  and  bone ! 
Brothers,  God  grant  when  this  life  is  o’er, 

In  the  life  to  come,  that  we  meet  once  more  ! 

See  the  smoke  how  the  lightning  is  cleaving 
asunder ! 

Hark,  the  guns  peal  on  peal,  how  they  boom  in 
their  thunder. 

From  host  to  host,  with  kindling  sound, 

The  shouting  signals  circle  round. 

Aye,  shout  it  forth  to  life  or  death — 

Freer  already  breathes  the  breath  : 

War  is  waging — slaughter  raging — 

And  heavy  through  the  reeking  pall 
The  iron  death-dice  fall ! 

Nearer  they  close — foes  upon  foes. 

“ Ready  !”  from  square  to  square  it  goes. 

Down  on  the  knee  they  sank, 

And  the  fire  comes  sharp  from  the  foremost  rank : 


18  53. 


jPaount  pleasant  ^catrcmg 


Many  a man  to  the  earth  is  sent — 

Many  a gap  by  the  balls  is  rent — 

O’er  the  corpse  before  springs  the  hinder  man, 
That  the  line  may  not  fail  to  the  fearless  van. 

To  the  right,  to  the  left,  and  around  and  around, 
Death  whirls  in  its  dance  on  the  bloody  ground, 
God’s  sunlight  is  quench’d  in  the  fiery  fight, 

And  over  the  host  falls  a brooding  night. 
Brothers,  God  grant  when  this  life  is  o’er, 

In  the  life  to  come,  that  we  meet  once  more. 

The  dead  men  lie  bathed  in  weltering  blood, 
And  the  living  are  blent  in  the  slippery  flood ; 
And  their  feet,  as  they  reeling  and  sliding  go, 
Stumble  still  on  the  corpses  that  sleep  below. 

“ What,  Francis  !” — “ Give  Charlotte  my  last  fare- 
well !” 

As  the  dying  man  murmurs,  the  thunders  swell — 
“ I’ll  give — O God  ! are  their  guns  so  near  ? 

Ho,  comrades — yon  volley  ! look  sharp  to  the  rear ! 
I’ll  give  thy  Charlotte  thy  last  farewell. 

Sleep  soft : where  death  thickest  descendeth  in 
vain— 

The  friend  thou  forsakest  thy  side  shall  regain.” 
Hitherward,  thitherward,  reels  the  fight ; 

Darkly,  and  more  darkly,  day  glooms  into  night. 
Brothers,  God  grant  when  this  life  is  o’er, 

In  the  life  to  come,  that  we  meet  once  more. 

Hark  to  the  hoofs  that  galloping  go  ! 

The  adjutants  flying — 

The  horsemen  press  hard  on  the  panting  foe, 
Their  thunder  booms  in  dying — 

Victory  ! 


jf&ount  pleasant  &catrem£. 


The  terror  has  seized  on  the  dastards  all, 

And  their  colours  fall — 

Victory  ! 

Closed  is  the  brunt  of  the  glorious  fight ; 

And  the  day,  like  a conqueror,  bursts  on  the  night. 
Trumpet  and  fife  swelling  choral  along, 

The  triumph  already  sweeps  marching  in  song. 
Farewell,  fallen  brothers ! though  this  life  be  o’er, 
There’s  another  in  which  we  shall  meet  you  once 
more. 


® IE  2 ® 2 M 2i  2)  Hi  IB  “D?  HI  □ 

LANGUAGES. 

Introduction by  R.  Barker,  N.  Y. 

The  Greek B.  Lee,  N.  Y 

The  Latin W.  Slidell,  La, 

The  French F.  Zacharie,  La 

The  German T.  Emanuel,  Ala 

The  English M.  Sorrel,  Ga 

Decision  by  the  presiding  Judge— C.  Minturn,  N.  Y. 


amt!  Helmut  ^taking. 


FEBRUARY  22,  1854. 


©if  usaiB© ubiiSo 


MUSIC. 

Song .by  the  SCHOOL  CHOIR. 

MUSIC. 

Salutatory M.  SORREL,  Ga. 

MUSIC. 

W.  BRANDRETII,  N.  Y Life’s  Better  Moments 

T.  ZACHARIE,  La. Valediction 

S.  GILMAN,  N.  Y Monti’s  Ode  to  Napoleon 

C.  ROSER,  Ga. Christophe  Colomb  a son  equipage  r§volt§ 

(French.) 

J.  VANDERVOORT,  N.  Y Religious  Liberty  abroad 

MUSIC. 

E.  LEVERICH,  N.  Y The  Masque  of  the  New  Year 

J.  PRINGLE,  S.  C Tribute  to  Gen.  Taylor 

T.  NELSON,  N.  Y Venice 

B.  LEE,  N.  Y Las  Casas  aux  Espagnols 

( Original  French  Translation .) 

A-  STODDARD,  Ga ..... Horatius  Codes 

MUSIC. 

' 

1 v ' 

18  5 4. 

$g@  . 


\©H?I 


LEE, 

VILLALONGA, 

SPENCER, 

KENT, 


C.  MAURICE, 

N.  Y. 

J.  HICKS, 

N.  Y. 

T.  GIBBS, 

R.  I. 

W.  SLIDELL, 

La. 

0.  SCHMIDT, 

N.  Y. 

J^ottut  pleasant  gteatremg* 


N.  Y France  and  England 

Porto  Rico Pintura  de  la  Inquisicion 

( Spanish  ) 

N.  Y The  Land  of  which  I dream 

Ga Greece.  ( Orig . Lat.  Trans,  from  Jarvis) 

N.  Y. ...The  Rock  of  the  Atlantic 

Pa. Fadeless  is'a  Loving  Heart 

MUSIC. 


(j French.) 

.The  Sultan  and  the  Czar 


MUSIC. 


NATIONAL  HEROISM. 

Introduction - by  the  President. 

The  Greeks - H.  Millikin,  La. 

The  Romans D.  McIntosh,  N.  Y. 

The  French B.  Lee,  N.  Y. 

The  English - C.  Mintukn,  N.  Y. 

The  Americans L.F.  Zacharie,  La. 

The  Ladies --M.  Sorrel,  Ga. 

Decision  by  the  President F.  Kent,  Pa. 


Of  beauty  and  bloom, 

But  they  hang  like  sweet  roses 
On  the  edge  of  the  tomb  ; 
Blessings  they  bring  us, 

As  lovely  as  brief ; 

They  meet  us  when  happy, 
And  leave  us  in  grief. 


(i 


Hues  of  the  morning, 
Tinging  the  sky, 

Come  on  the  sun-beams, 
And  off  with  them  fly. 
Shadows  of  evening 
Hang  soft  on  the  shore  ; 
Darkness  enwraps  them, — 
We  see  them  no  more. 


So,  Life’s  better  moments 
In  brilliance  appear, 
Dawning  in  beauty, 

Our  journey  to  cheer. 
Round  us  they  linger, 

Like  shadows  of  even ; 
Would  that  we,  like  them, 
Might  melt  into  Heaven 


3Tentfj  glnmbersari?, 

1854. 


$ 


As  flowers  that  bud  and  bloom  before  us, 

Then  droop  in  languor  and  decay  ; 

As  clouds  that  form  their  bright  shapes  o’er  us, 
Then  speed  their  trackless  course  away ; 

As  sparkling  waves  we  watch  advancing, 

That  melt  in  foam  beneath  our  gaze ; 

As  sunlight  o’er  the  waters  glancing, 

That  smiles  and  then  withdraws  its  rays ; 

As  summer  insects,  to  their  night-homes  wending, 
Sweep  by  us  with  a hum  of  melody  ; 

As  gentle  showers  on  the  earth  descending, 

Gem  for  a fleeting  space  each  shrub  and  tree — 

So  pass  away  the  gifts  and  joys  of  earth  ; 

Frail  as  the  rose, thecloud, the  waves  as  fleeting; 

We  scarce  can  welcome  happiness  to  birth, 

Ere  some  sad  note  of  change  arrests  the  greeting. 

The  hopes  we  build,  the  friends  we  prize, 

The  visioned  schemes  our  hearts  delighting, 

How  do  they  vanish  from  our  eyes  ! 

The  real  our  joyous  fancies  blighting. 

The  scenes  we  love  Time  marks  with  change, 
And  gladsome  hours  have  no  abiding, 

And  friends  o’er  land  and  ocean  range, 

The  earth’s  wide  space  our  lot  dividing. 

But  shall  we  therefore  shun  the  pleasant  things 
This  else  too  barren  wilderness  adorning? 

And  give  to  joy  and  gladness  swifter  wings, 
Shielding  our  hearts  in  cold  and  selfish  warning? 


sahnubrrsnri?, 

1 854. 


JBount  pleasant  SUatrcms 


No  ! for  the  memory  of  delights  that  leave  us 
Lingers — a welcome  echo  of  the  past. 

No  ! for  through  all  the  myriad  ills  that  grieve  us, 
Hope  struggles  on,  consoling  to  the  last. 

And  through  life’s  varied  scenes  and  hours  departed, 
Its  mingled  heritage  of  joy  and  pain, 

One  solace  ever  clings  to  the  warm-hearted, 
Affection  can  live  on, — and  friends  may  meet 
again. 


MONTI’S  ODE  TO  NAPOLEON. 

He  was.  When  motionless  and  dumb, 

The  last  sigh  left  the  clay, 

And  orphan’d  of  that  wondrous  soul 
His  wondrous  body  lay, — 

As  motionless,  as  dumb  with  awe, 

Earth  heard  the  tidings  fly, 

Mute  pondering  on  his  mortal  hour, 

The  Man  of  Destiny  ! 

Nor  knew  when  o’er  her  trembling  plain 
Another  footstep  dread 

Should  tramp  th’  ensanguined  dust  with  tracks 
Like  his — the  mighty  dead  ! 

From  Alps  unto  the  Pyramids, 

From  Durro  to  the  Rhine, 

The  lightning  of  his  right  red  hand 
He  launched  out,  half  divine. 

From  Scylla’s  rock  to  Danube’s  shore 
It  leaped — from  sea  to  sea. 


STcitti)  Sltimbcrsavn* 


1854. 


Was  it  true  glory  ? Ye  alone 
Will  judge,  Posterity. 

We  can  but  bow  our  heads  before 
The  Maker  uncreate, 

Who  stamped  his  image  on  this  soul 
In  lines  so  wondrous  great. 

The  stormy  trembling  joy  that  broods 
O’er  vast  designs  conceived, — 

The  burning  thirst  to  win  a throne, 
That,  won,  is  scarce  believed, — 
Both,  all  were  his, — the  mad  desire 
And  its  fulfilment  strange  ! 

Glory  by  peril  made  more  sweet, 

And  then,  in  endless  change, 

Height,  victory,  a monarch’s  dome, 

An  exile’s  roof  of  pain, 

Twice  hurled  into  the  dust,  and  twice 
Royally  crowned  again. 

He,  nameless,  named  himself.  In  him, 
Two  warring  dynasties 
Converged,  and  humbly  read  their  fate 
From  his  commanding  eyes. 

He,  making  silence,  ’tween  them  both 
Sat  arbiter  awhile, 

Then  vanished,  and  his  idle  days 
Closed  in  a narrow  isle ; 

Of  envy  wild,  of  pity  deep, 

Perpetual  sign  to  prove  ; 

Of  unextinguishable  hate, 
Unconquerable  love. 


How  often,  at  the  silent  death 
Of  some  void,  aimless  day, 


Entti)  &mtibcrsnr;» 


185  4. 


iHotmt  pleasant  &catrem» 


His  fiery  eyes  low  bent,  his  arms 
Crossed  on  his  breast  alway, 

He  stood,  while  all  the  days  that  were 
Assaulted  him  like  foes  : 

He  sees  once  more  the  moving  tents, 

The  vales  marched  through,  the  shows 
Of  glittering  foot  and  horsemen  bold, 

In  wary  lines  displayed, — 

The  lightning  of  the  imperial  will, 

As  lightning  like  obeyed. 

O Muse  of  triumphs,  lovely,  calm, 

As  an  immortal  is, 

Benign  faith  sitting  in  thine  eyes, 

O joyful  Muse,  write  this  : 

No  loftier  soul  than  his  e’er  trod 
The  Golgotha  of  doom, 

So  let  all  bitter  words  die  mute 
On  the  dead  hero’s  tomb  ! 


& 


CHR1STOPHE  COLOMB  A SES  MATELOTS 
REVOLTED. 

Espagnols,  qu’allez-vous  faire  ? M’arracher  la 
vie?  Mais  quand  vous  m’aurez  jete  a. la  mer, 
en  aurez-vous  plus  de  moyens  de  retourner  en 
Espagne  ? 

Moi  seul,  j’ai  pu  vous  diriger  sur  ces  mers  in- 
connues,  moi  seul,  je  puis  vous  reconduire  dans 
votre  patrie.  Si  je  meurs,  prives  de  guide,  vous 
serez  condamnes  a peril*  au  milieu  des  solitudes 


Sentt)  ^umbersarw, 

1 8 5 4. 


J&ount  pleasant  gtca&emg 


de  FOcean ; car  j’emporterai  dans  la  tombe  le  se- 
cret de  ma  navigation. 

En  vain  vous  essayez  de  m’epouvanter  ; trem- 
blez  a votre  tour,  car  votre  sort  est  attache  au 
mien,  et  mon  trepas  serait  bientot  venge.  Q,uel 
droit  auriez-vous  alors,  egares  sur  l’abime  des 
mers,  a la  protection  du  Dieu  des  tempetes? 
Oseriez-vous  le  supplier,  vous,  meurtriers  de 
votre  chef,  oseriez-vous  le  supplier  de  sauver  vos 
jours,  oseriez-vous  le  supplier  de  vous  rendre  a 
votre  patrie  et  a vos  families  ? 

Croyez-vous  que  le  dessein  que  j’ai  forme  ne 
soit  pas  line  inspiration  de  Dieu  meme?  C’est 
lui  qui  vous  envoie  porter  le  flambeau  de  l’Evan- 
gile  au  dela  des  mers,  comme  il  y envoie  le  soleil 
porter  l’eclat  du  jour.  Yous  ne  croyez  pas  que 
cet  astre  ait  re^i  du  Createur  une  mission  inu- 
tile et  qu’il  roule  sans  but  vers  l’Occident  desert, 
vous  devez  croire  aussi  que  vous  trouverez  de  ce 
cote  du  ciel  une  autre  terre  et  d’autres  hommes. 

Espagnols,  un  dernier  effort ; je  ne  vous  de- 
mandeplus  que  trois  jours  de  perseverance,  et  j’en 
jure  par  cet  astre  qui  brille  sur  nos  tetes,  vos  espe- 
rances  ne  seront  pas  trompees. 


RELIGIOUS  LIBERTY  ABROAD. 


If  there  were  any  one  idea  which,  more  than 
others,  animated  the  founders  of  these  States,  it 
was  that  of  Religious  Freedom.  The  Pilgrim 
Fathers  of  New  England  brought  it  with  them 
from  their  persecutions  in  England,  and  their 


STcnti)  &nmbersar)>. 


Wm 


1 854. 


exile  in  Holland,  when  they  sought  and  found,  in 
the  Western  wilderness,  freedom  to  worship  God. 
The  Dutch  founders  of  this  city  brought  it  with 
them  from  that  Fatherland  which  was  a refuge 
of  the  persecuted  for  opinion’s  sake  throughout 
Europe.  In  Pennsylvania,  William  Penn,  the 
head  of  a persecuted  and  despised  sect,  proclaimed 
religious  freedom  to  every  inhabitant  of  his  peace- 
ful commonweath.  The  Catholic  founders  of 
Maryland,  disgusted  with  the  strifes  of  rival  sects 
in  the  Old  World,  proclaimed  the  equality  of  all 
in  the  New  ; and  in  Carolina,  to  which  the  Hu- 
guenots flew  from  the  fanaticism  of  their  country- 
men for  religion’s  sake,  there  was  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  Universal  Toleration.  This  funda- 
mental idea  of  religious  freedom  was  preserved  in 
our  fundametal  laws.  The  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  declares  that  Congress  shall  make 
no  law  respecting  the  establishment  of  religion, 
or  prohibiting  the  free  exercise  thereof,  and  all 
the  constitutions  of  this  State,  from  that  which 
was  first  made  amid  the  perils  and  disquietudes 
of  the  Revolutionary  contest,  to  the  last,  which 
was  framed  in  the  piidst  of  our  abounding  pro- 
sperity, contained  this  remarkable  declaration, — 
worthy  to  be  held  in  perpetual  remembrance, — 
that  the  free  profession  and  enjoyment  of  religious 
profession  and  practice,  without  discrimination 
or  preference,  shall  be  for  ever  allowed,  in  this 
State,  to  all  mankind.  Such  being  the  idea  of 
the  right  of  conscience,  it  does  not  comport  with 
our  sense  of  right,  nor  our  self-respect,  that  we 
should  lose  those  rights  when  our  business,  or 


1 854. 


iWount  pleasant  ^cattem^. 


our  pleasure,  calls  us  abroad.  We  hold  that  an 
American  citizen  going  abroad  has  the  palpable 
and  visible  shield  of  his  country  forever  hanging 
over  him, — that  he  may  stand  unabashed  as  an 
equal  even  in  the  presence  of  princes,  and  that 
wherever  he  is,  if  he  demands  protection  as  an 
American  citizen,  “he  shall  have  it.”  This  the 
President  has  proclaimed  from  the  steps  of  the 
Capitol,  and  our  Secretaries  have  asserted  it  in 
State  papers.  Our  navies  have  maintained  it  at 
foreign  ports,  and  our  commanders,  from  the  sides 
of  our  wooden  walls,  have  proclaimed  it  in  lan- 
guage which  neither  thrones  nor  sceptres  can 
ignore.  And  even  the  pride  of  the  ancient  House 
of  Hapsburgh  has  suffered  the  humiliation  of 
surrendering  to  force  what  was  demanded  of  it  in 
the  name  of  American  citizenship.  Shall  we  be 
less  sensitive  to  our  religious  rights  than  to  those 
which  are  purely  political  ? Is  there  any  reason 
why  we  should  maintain  the  one  and  surrender 
the  other  ? On  the  contrary,  as  the  rights  of  con- 
science are  the  chiefest  of  all  rights,  they  should 
be  the  first  to  guard,  and  the  last  to  surrender. 
We  ask  for  no  exclusive  privileges.  We  do  not 
seek  to  make  the  occasion  of  our  being  abroad 
an  opportunity  for  propagandism.  We  do  not 
assume  to  assail  the  institutions,  civil  or  religious, 
of  any  other  country,  by  act  or  word ; but  we 
maintain  that  an  American  citizen,  going  abroad, 
carries  with  him  all  his  personal  rights,  and  the 
chiefest  among  those  rights  are  the  rights  of  con- 
science, with  all  their  incidents. 


&enti)  ^umbersara?. 


< 

t 


1 854. 


p 


mm 

C'lJj/'satf! 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR. 


Out  from  tower  and  from  steeple  rang  the  sudden  New 
Year  bells, 

Like  the  chorusing  of  genii  in  aerial  citadels  ; 

And,  as  they  chimed  and  echoed  overthwart  the  gulf  of 
gloom, 

Lo,  a brilliance  burst  upon  me,  and  a masque  went  thro’ 
the  room. 

First,  the  young  New  Year  came  forward,  like  a little 
dancing  child, 

And  his  hair  wTas  as  a glory,  and  his  eyes  were  bright 
and  wild, 

And  he  shook  an  odorous  torch,  and  he  laughed,  but  did 
not  speak, 

And  his  smile  went  softly  rippling  through  the  roses  of 
his  cheek, 

Round  he  looked  across  his  shoulder ; and  the  Spirit  of 
the  Spring. 

Entered  slowly,  moved  before  me,  paused  and  lingered 
on  the  wing ; 

And  she  smiled  and  wept  together,  with  a dalliance  quaint 
and  sweet. 

And  her  tear-drops  changed  to  flowers  underneath  her 
gliding  feet 

And  the  Goddess  of  the  Spring — that  spirit  tender  and 
benign. — 

Squeezed  a vapory  cloud,  which  vanished  into  heaven’s 
crystal  wine  ; 

And  she  faded  in  the  distance  where  the  thickening  leaves 


12 


Emtlj  ^nnibersavj?- 


jfHount  pleasant  &£atrent£, 


Summer,  shaking  languid  roses  from  his  dew  be-dappled 
hair, 

Summer,  in  a robe  of  green,  and  with  his  arms  and 
shoulders  bare, 

Next  came  forward ; and  the  richness  of  his  pageants 
filled  the  eye ; 

Breadths  of  fertile  meadows  basking  underneath  the 
happy  sky; 

Long  grass  swaying  in  the  playing  of  the  almost  wearied 
breeze ; 

Flowers  bowed  beneath  a crowd  of  the  yellow-armored 
bees  ; 

Sun-uprisings,  and  sun-settings,  and  intensities  of  noon  ; 

Purple  darkness  of  the  midnight,  and  the  glory  of  the  moon ; 

Silver  stars  in  azure  evenings,  slowly  climbing  up  the  steep; 

Corn-fields  ripening  to  the  harvest,  and  the  wide  seas 
smooth  with  sleep  ; 

Circled  with  these  living  splendors,  Summer  passed  from 
out  my  sight, 

Like  a dream  that  filled  with  beauty  all  the  caverns  of 
the  night ; 

And  the  vision  and  the  presence  into  empty  nothing  ran  ; 

And  the  New  Year  was  still  older,  and  seemed  now  a 
youthful  man. 

hi. 

Autumn  ! Forth  from  glowing  orchards  stepped  he  gayly, 
in  a gown 

Of  warm  russet,  freaked  with  gold,  and  with  a visage 
sunny-brown  ; 

On  his  head  a rural  chaplet,  wreathed  with  heavily  drop- 
ping grapes, 

And  broad,  shadow-casting  vine-leaves,  like  the  Baccha- 
nalian shapes, 


ptount  pleasant  ^ca&cmi). 


Fruit  and  berries  rolled  before  him,  from  the  year’s  ex- 
haustless horn, 

Jets  of  wine  went  spinning  upwards,  and  he  held  a sheaf 
of  corn ; 

And  he  laughed  for  very  joy,  and  he  danced  from  too 
much  pleasure, 

And  he  sang  old  songs  of  harvest,  and  he  quaffed  a 
mighty  measure. 

But  above  this  wild  delight  an  overmastering  graveness 
rose, 

And  the  fields  and  trees  seemed  thoughtful  in  their  abso- 
lute repose ; 

And  I saw  the  woods  consuming  in  a many-colored  death, 

Streaks  of  yellow  flame,  down  deepening  through  the 
green  that  lingereth, 

Autumn  walked  in  glee  and  triumph  over  mountain,  wood 
and  plain, 

And  he  looked  upon  their  richness  as  a king  on  his 
domain ; 

All  too  soon  he  waned,  and  vanished  over  misty  heaths 
and  meres ; 

And  the  New  Year  stood  beside  me  like  a man  of  fifty 
years. 

IV. 

In  a foggy  cloud  obscurely  entered  Winter,  ashy  pale, 

And  his  step  was  hard  and  heavy,  and  he  wore  an  icy  mail : 

Blasting  all  the  path  before  him,  leapt  a black  wind  from 
the  north, 

And  from  stinging  drifts  of  sleet  he  forged  the  arrows  of 
his  wrath. 

Yet  some  beauty  still  was  found,  for  when  the  fogs  had 
passed  away, 

The  wide  lands  came  glittering  forward  in  a fresh  and 
strange  array ; 


&nmbersarj?* 

1854. 


sdfijS 

14 

JtJoimt  pleasant  &catrem2>. 


Naked  trees  had  got  snow  foliage,  soft,  and  feathery,  and 
bright, 

And  the  earth  looked  dressed  for  heaven  in  its  spiritual 
white. 

But  the  face  of  Winter^softened,  and  his  lips  broke  into 
smiles, 

And  his  heart  was  filled  with  radiance  as  from  far  en- 
chanted isles  ; 

For  across  the  long  horizon  came  a light  upon  the  way, 

The  light  of  Christmas  fires,  and  the  dawning  of  new  day, 

And  Winter  moved  not  onward,  like  the  rest,  but  made 
a stand, 

And  took  the  Spirit  of  Christmas,  as  a brother,  by  the 
hand  ; 

And  together  tow’rd  the  heavens,  a great  cry  of  joy  they 
sent— 

And  the  New  Year  was  the  Old  Year,  and  his  head  was 
grey  and  bent. 


TRIBUTE  TO  GENERAL  TAYLOR. 

Rest,  wearied  soldier,  rest — thy  work  is  done, 
Thy  last  great  battle  fought — the  victory  won ; 
And  where  thy  country’s  Genius  vigil  keeps, 
Around  thine  honored  grave  a nation  weeps. 

Not  in  the  tumult  of  the  swelling  fight, 

On  thy  long  day  came  down  the  peaceful  night, 
But  mid  thy  country’s  annals  that  proclaim, 
Thy  worth,  thy  valor,  and  thine  honest  fame. 

Rest,  patriot  hero,  rest — the  war  of  life 
No  more  shall  vex  thee  with  its  fevered  strife, 


185  4. 


pimmt  pleasant  ^calremg. 


Nor  mortal  care,  nor  pomp  of  earthly  state, 
Weigh  down  the  soul — the  toil  of  being  great. 

All  human  things  are  vain — the  mightiest  power, 
Fades  like  a shadow, — withers  in  an  hour ; 

Our  proudest  hopes  decay, — our  surest  trust 
Dissolves  and  dies, — and  we  ourselves  are  dust. 

And  while  thy  name  floats  down  Time’s  rolling 
stream, 

The  soldier’s  glory  and  the  sage’s  theme  ; 
Taught  by  thy  fate,  let  this  the  nations  own, 
That  God  on  high  is  great,  and  God  alone. 


VENICE. 


Long  I dreamed  of  rare  old  Venice — 
Venice  bright,  and  free,  and  brave  ; 
Saw  her  people  scant  but  hardy, 

Win  their  city  from  the  wave  ; 

Saw  from  scattered  islets  springing 
Tower  and  dome,  and  palace  fair; 
Saw  her  sailors,  lithe  and  sturdy, 

Sea,  and  storm,  and  battle  dare. 

ii. 


Long  I dreamed  of  proud,  old  Venice 
Venice  of  the  conquering  sword; 
Saw  her  host  of  famous  captains 
Driving  back  the  Moslem  horde 
Saw  her  matchless,  blind  old  hero 
Trample  on  the  Imposter’s  sign- 


Seutf)  gUintbersatg. 


1 854. 


.piouttt  pleasant  &catrcm». 


Saw  him  plant  the  blessed  standard 
Where  ’twas  set  by  Constantine. 

in. 

Then  I dreamed  of  “Golden  Venice” — 
Venice  rich,  and  learned,  and  wise  ; 

Saw  full  robed  her  mighty  masters 
Sweeping  by  in  lordly  guise  ; 

Saw  great  Paul,  and  glorious  Titian, 

Strike  from  heaven  itself  their  light ; 

Saw  them  frame  those  deathless  heir-looms, 
Starring  yet  their  Country’s  night. 

IV. 

But  I woke  in  fallen  Venice — 

Falling  low  and  falling  yet ; 

Saw  her  nameless  among  the  nations — 
Knew  her  sun  of  glory  set — 

Saw  her  palaces  deserted, 

Turned  to  uses  vile  and  low — 

Knew  her  old  patrician  glories 
Naught  but  tales  of  long  ago. 

v. 

But  I woke  in  ruined  Venice — 

Venice  of  the  watery  ways  ; 

Saw  a people  poor  and  idle 
Shuffle  through  ignoble  days ; 

Saw  the  merchants’  great  Rialto 
Filled  with  costermongers’  stalls ; 

Saw  her  stately  havens  empty — 

Travellers  shew  her  council  halls. 


vi. 

I woke  in  Austria’s  Venice — 


&enti)  ^irmbersarin 


1 8 54. 


i&onut  pleasant  &catmn£, 


CTenti}  gumbersara?. 


Venice  tame  beneath  her  yoke  ; 
Saw  the  Austrian  bayonet  gleaming- 
Heard  the  Teuton’s  guttural  croak- 
Saw  by  night  a phantom  gliding 
On  the  waters  dark  and  slow — 
Heard  beneath  the  winged  lion 
Muttered  wailings  come  and  go. 


LAS  CASAS  AUX  ESPAGNOLS. 

Espagnols ! n’avez-vous  pas  encore  mis  le 
comble  a votre  cruaute  sanguinaire  ? Vous  de- 
sirez  de  nouveaux  massacres,  6 ciel ! de  nouveaux 
massacres,  et  contre  qui  ? Contre  un  roi  si  paci- 
fique  que  vos  crimes  atroces  n’ont  pas  meme  ex- 
cite dans  son  coeur  le  moindre  desir  de  vengeance 
et  qui,  offense  ou  vainqueur,  implore  de  nouveai* 
la  paix ! Contre  un  peuple  qui  ne  fit  jamais  le 
moindre  mal  a une  creature  humaine ! Contre 
un  peuple  embieme  d’irmocence,  qui  vous  offrit 
Phospitalite  la  plus  empressee  et  les  soins  les  plus 
touchants ! Et  comment  Pen  avez-vous  recom- 
pense? II  vous  apporta  ses  tresors  et  vous  le 
depouillates  de  ses  autres  biens.  II  vous  offrit 
1’hospitalite  avec  la  plus  grande  confiance  et  vous 
Pen  lecompensates  par  Poppression  et  le  deshon- 
neur ! 

Pizarre,  ecoute-moi ! . . . Vous  aussi,  chefs, 
ecoutez-moi.  . . . Et  toi,  Dieu  tout  puissant,  dont 
la  foudre  peut  reduire  en  poussiere  les  roches  les 
plus  imp6netrables,  inspire  a ton  serviteur  des 
paroles  persuasives  et  que  ta  puissance  inspire 
son  courage ! . . . Oh  ! je  vous  en  supplie,  vous 


JHouut  pleasant  ^catremg. 


chefs,  vous  mes  compatriotes,  oh  je  vous  en  sup- 
pi  ie,  ne  renouvelez  pas  les  horreurs  que  votre  in- 
satiable avarice  a infligees  a cette  malheureuse  et 
innocente  race  ! . . . Mais  imposons  silence  a nos 
soupirs ! Ne  coulez  plus,  vous  larmes  d’une  dou- 
leur  inutile ! Delirante  affliction,  n’etouffe  pas 
mes  paroles ! 

Espagnols,  je  n’ai  qu’une  seule  grace  a implorer 
de  vous : c’est  de  vous  supplier  de  m’envoyer 
encore  une  fois  vers  ceux  que  vous  appelez  vos 
ennemis.  Oh ! que  je  sois  le  messager  de  votre 
repentir  et  je  reviendrai  bientot  comble  de  leurs 
benedictions  pour  vous.  . . . Elvire,  vous  versez 
des  larmes  ! He  las  ! il  n’y  a done  que  vous  qui 
possediez  un  coeur  compatissant ! . . . Mais  le 
temps  fait,  les  prieres  deviennent  inutiles ; les 
chefs  ont  resolu  de  livrer  immediatement  le 
combat. 

O Dieii ! tu  as  choisi  ton  serviteur,  non  pour 
maudire,  mais  pour  benir  mes  compatriotes,  et 
cependant  si  je  benissais  aujourd’hui  leur  armee, 
je  croirais  blasphemer  contre  ta  bonte  divine. 

. . . Non,  non.  je  maudis  vos  projets  homicides  ! je 
maudis  les  liens  sanguinaires  qui  vous  unissent. 
due  la  discorde,  le  crime,  la  rebellion  detruisent 
vos  sinistres  projets  et  aneantissent  vos  esperances 
coupables  ! due  sur  vous  et  sur  vos  enfants  re- 
tombe  la  terrible  responsibilite  du  sang  que  vous 
repandrez  aujourd’hui ! Je  vous  quitte  pour  tou- 
jours  ! Mes  yeux  affaiblis  ne  peuvent  plus  sup- 
porter les  horreurs  dont  ils  ont  ete  trop  longtemps 
les  tgmoins. 


STcnti)  ^mubersarw. 


1 854. 


i&ouut  pleasant  gRatrems 


HORATIUS  AT  THE  BRIDGE. 

Then  out  spake  brave  Horatius, 
The  captain  of  the  gate  : 

“ To  every  man  upon  this  earth 
Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 

And  how  can  man  die  better 
Than  facing  fearful  odds 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers, 

And  the  temples  of  his  gods  ; 


“ Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul, 
With  all  the  speed  ye  may  ; 

I,  with  two  more  to  help  me, 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play. 

In  yon  straight  path  a thousand 
May  well  be  stopped  by  three, 

Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 
And  keep  the  bridge  with  me  ?” 

hi. 

“ Horatius,”  quoth  the  consul, 

“ As  thou  say’st,  so  let  it  be.” 

And  straight  against  that  great  array 
Forth  went  the  dauntless  three. 

For  Romans  in  Rome’s  quarrel 
Spared  neither  land  nor  gold  ; 

Nor  son  nor  wife,  nor  limb  nor  life, 

In  those  brave  days  of  old. 


IV. 

But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever 
Have  manfully  been  plied, 

STcnti)  &nmbersav». 


1 85  4. 


0^9 
•l* 

k® fs 

20 

Jtaount  pleasant  glca&emt?. 


And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 
Above  the  boiling  tide. 

“ Come  back,  come  hack,  Horatius  !” 
Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all : 

“ Back,  Lartius  ! back,  Herminius  ! 
Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall !” 


v. 


Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius; 
Herminius  darted  back ; 

And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 
They  felt  the  timbers  crack. 

But  when  they  turned  their  faces, 
And  on  the  further  shore 
Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone, 
They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 


vi. 

But  with  a crash  like  thunder 
Fell  every  loosened  beam, 

And,  like  a dam,  the  mighty  wreck 
Lay  right  athwart  the  stream : 

And  a long  shout  of  triumph 
Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 

As  to  the  highest  turret  tops 
Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

VII. 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 

But  constant  still  in  mind ; 

Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before, 
And  the  brood  flood  behind. 

“Down  with  him!”  cried  false  Sextus, 
With  a smile  on  his  pale  face. 


\®£''  ■ 


i^tount  pleasant  gtcatremi?. 

“ Now  yield  thee,”  cried  Lars  Porsena, 
“ Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace.” 

VIII. 

Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 
Those  craven  ranks  to  see  ; 

Nought  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

To  Sextus  nought  spake  he ; 

But  he  saw  on  Palibinus 
The  white  porch  of  his  home ; 

And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 
That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome  : 

IX. 

“ O Tiber  ! Father  Tiber ! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 

A Roman’s  life,  a Roman’s  arms, 

Take  thou  in  charge  this  day.” 

So  he  spake,  and  speaking,  sheathed 
The  good  sword  by  his  side, 

And  with  his  harness  on  his  back, 
Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 

x. 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 
Was  heard  from  either  bank  ; 

But  friends  and  foes  in  dumb  surprise, 
With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes, 
Stood  gazing  where  he  sank;  * 

And  when  above  the  surges 
They  saw  his  crest  appear, 

All  Rome  sent  forth  a rapturous  cry, 
And  e’en  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 
Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 


Senti)  Slnmbersarw. 

1 85  4. 


jt&otint  pleasant 


Bat  fiercely  ran  the  current, 
Swollen  high  hy  months  of  rain ; 


And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing, 
And  he  was  sore  in  pain ; 

And  heavy  with  his  armor, 

And  spent  with  changing  blows ; 
And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 
But  still  again  he  rose. 


And  now  he  feels  the  bottom, 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands, 

Now  round  him  throng  the  fathers 
To  press  his  gory  hands  ; 

And  now  with  shouts  and  clapping, 
And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 

He  enters  through  the  river  gate, 
Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

XIII. 

They  gave  him  of  the  even-land, 
That  was  of  public  right. 

As  much  as  two  strong  oxen 
Could  plough  from  morn  till  night ; 
And  they  made  a molten  image, 
And  set  it  up  on  high, 

And  there  it  stands  unto  this  day 
To  witness  if  I lie. 


XIV. 


And  still  his  name  sounds  stirring 
Unto  the  men  of  Rome, 

As  the  trumpet-blast  that  cries  to  them 


23 

Blount  pleasant  Slcatiems. 


To  charge  the  Yolscian  home. 

And  wives  still  pray  to  Juno 
For  boys  with  hearts  as  hold 
As  his  who  kept  the  bridge  so  well 
In  those  brave  days  of  old. 


FRANCE  AND  ENGLAND. 

Two  sisters  stand  by  Stamboul’s  sunny  waters, 
Two  sisters  sit  where  Arctic  ice-winds  rave — 
Hands  clasped,  the  first  watch  a fleet’s  crew  at 
quarters, 

Hands  clasped,  the  second  weep  beside  a grave. 

The  same  two  sisters  long  upon  each  other, 

Stern  have  they  frowned  across  their  channel  sea  : 
But  now  all  rivalries  and  hates  they  smother, 
And  sit  thus,  hand  in  hand  laid  lovingly. 

Why,  sisters,  rest  ye  thus  at  peace  together, 
Your  ancient  feuds  and  factions  all  laid  by? — 
Why  smile  you  in  that  purple  Asian  weather? 
Why  weep  you  ’neath  the  leaden  Polar  sky  ? 

“Two  causes,  stranger,  hold  us  thus  united — 
Both  fit  to  make  true  friends  of  noble  foes  ; 

In  the  bright  East  we  stand  to  see  wropg  righted, 
In  the  black  North  a hero’s  eyes  we  close. 

“ Those  battle  flags  that  side  by  side  are  swelling, 
Speak  of  brute  force  defied,  of  law  maintained: 
Those  funeral  flags  that  side  by  side  are  trailing, 
Speak  both  of  loss  endured  and  triumph  gained. 


STenti)  Sinmbersarj?. 


1 8 54. 


“ Yon  banded  fleet  to  all  the  nations  teaches. 

He  that  doth  wrong  his  wrong  shall  sore  abye  ; 

The  icy  monument  of  Bellot  preaches 

How  nobly  love  can  live,  how  grandly  faith  can  die. 

“Are  not  these  lessons  worthy  of  the  giving? 

To  give  them  is’t  not  well  to  use  our  might  ? 
Then  leave  us  to  our  gladness  and  our  grieving, 
Under  the  Eastern  sun,  beneath  the  Polar  night. 


PINTURA  DE  LA  INQUISICION. 

Senor,  nada  he  pronunciado  delante  del  con- 
greso  que  no  sea  publico,  no  solo  a la  nacion  sino 
a toda  la  Europa.  Debo  repetir  que  he  sido  muy 
contenido  y moderado  en  la  pintura  que  hice  de 
este  odioso  y horrible  tribunal,  que,  desde  su 
establecimiento  en  Castilla,  comenzb  a desen- 
frenarse  y escederse  en  golpes  de  arbitriaridad, 
crueldad  y despotismo,  como  consta  del  breve  del 
Santo  Padre,  Sicsto  IV.,  y de  otros  monumentos 
histbricos,  que  no  necesito  reproducir.  Defien- 
dalo  como  quieran  sus  patrones  y protectores ; 
mas  insultan  descaradamente  a la  humanidad 
cuanto  nos  lo  pintan  dulce,  suave,  compasivo, 
caritativo,  ilustrado,  justo  piadoso.  ^Qme  lenguage 
es  este,  senor  ? Yo  entro  en  los  magnificos 
palacios  de  la  inquisicion,  me  acerco  a las  puertas 
de  bronce  de  sus  horribles  y hediondos  calabozos, 
tiro  los  pesados  y asperos  cerrojos,  desciendo  y me 
paro  a media  escalera.  Un  aire  fetido  y corrum- 
pido  entorperze  mis  sentidos,  pen  samientos  lu- 


2Tcuti)  ^umbersari). 


1 8 54. 


gunbres  aflijen  mi  espiritu,  tristes  y lamentables 
gritos  despedazan  mi  corazon.  Alii  veo  a un 
sacerdote  del  Senor  padeciento  por  una  atroz 
calumnia  en  la  mension  del  crimen ; aqui  a un 
anciano,  ciudadano  honrado  y virtuoso,  por  una 
intriga  domestica  ; aculla  a una  justo  que  acaso 
no  tendria  mas  delito  que  su  hermoso  y su  pudor. 

. . . Auqui  enmuderzco,  porque  un  nudo  en  la 
garganta  no  me  permite  articular ; porque  la  de- 
bilidad  de  mi  pecho  no  me  deja  prosequir. 

Las  generaciones  futuras  se  llenaran  de  espa- 
nato  y admiracion.  La  historia  confirmara,  algun 
dia  lo  que  he  dicho,  descubrira  lo  que  oculto, 
publicara  lo  que  callo.  £Q,ue  tardu,  pues,  en 
libertad  de  la  nacion  de  un  establecimiento  tan 
monstruoso  ? 


THE  LAND  OF  WHICH  I DREAM. 

These  peaks  are  nearer  heaven  than  earth  below, 
These  hills  are  higher  than  they  seem ; 

5Tis  not  the  clouds  they  touch,  nor  the  soft  brow, 
Of  the  o’erbending  azure,  as  we  deem ; 

‘Tis  the  blue  floor  of  heaven  that  they  upbear  ; 
And,  like  some  old  and  wildly  rugged  stair, 

They  lift  us  to  the  land  where  all  is  fair — 

The  land  of  which  I dream. 

These  ocean-waves,  in  their  unmeasured  sweep, 
Are  brighter,  bluer  than  they  seem  ; 

True  image,  here,  of  the  celestial  deep, 

Fed  from  the  fulness  of  the  unfailing  stream — 


5Tenti)  ^umbersarg 

1 854. 


JHount  pleasant  ^Icalrema? 


Heaven’s  glassy  sea  of  everlasting  rest, 

With  not  a breath  to  stir  its  silent  breast — 

The  sea  that  laves  the  land  where  all  are  blest- 
The  land  of  which  I dream. 


And  these  keen  stars,  the  bridal  gems  of  night, 
Are  purer,  lovelier  than  they  seem  ; 

Filled  from  the  inner  fountain  of  deep  light, 
They  pour  down  heaven’s  own  beam, 

Clear  speaking  from  their  throne  of  glorious  blue^ 
In  accents  ever  ancient,  ever  new, 

Of  the  glad  home  above,  beyond  our  view — 
The  land  of  which  I dream. 

This  life  of  ours,  these  lingering  years  of  earth, 
Are  briefer,  swifter  than  they  seem ; 

A little  while,  and  the  great  second  birth 
Of  Time  shall  come,  the  prophets’  ancient  theme  ! 
Then  He,  the  King,  the  Judge,  at  length  shall 
come, 

And  for  the  desert,  where  we  sadly  roam, 

Shall  give  the  kingdom  for  our  endless  home — 
The  land  of  which  I dream. 


THE  ROCK  OF  THE  ATLANTIC. 

In  the  sleepless  Atlantic,  remote  and  alone, 

Is  a rock  which  the  wild  waves  all  wrathfully  beat ; 
Its  echoing  bulwarks  with  sea-drift  are  strewn, 

And  dark  are  the  waters  that  roll  at  its  feet. 

Let  the  shrill  winds  of  Ocean  go  forth  as  they  may, 

It  wars  with  the  surges,  and  knows  not  of  rest ; 


&nnibersarn 


1 8 54. 


f 


J&outit  pleasant  glca&emn 


Its  pinnacles  drip  with  the  fast  falling  spray, 

And  billows  are  breaking  in  foam  on  its  breast. 

But  tho’  breakers  and  whirlwinds  around  it  may  sweep, 
That  hermit  of  ocean  lives  conquering  on, 

And  the  mariner  sees  it  still  fronting  the  deep, 

As  it  flung  back  the  surf  in  the  years  that  are  gone. 
All  worn,  but  unshaken,  that  desolate  rock, 

Fast  rooted  where  islands  and  earthquakes  are  born, 
Looks  fearlessly  down  on  the  breakers’  rude  shock, 

And  laughs  the  vain  force  of  the  tempest  to  scorn. 


FADELESS  IS  A LOVING  HEART. 

Sunny  eyes  may  look  their  brightness  ; 
Nimble  feet  forget  their  lightness  ; 
Pearly  teeth  may  know  decay ; 

Raven  tresses  turn  to  gray  ; 

Cheeks  be  pale,  and  eyes  be  dim ; 

Faint  the  voice,  and  weak  the  limb ; 
But  though  youth  and  strength  depart, 
Fadeless  is  a loving  heart. 

Like  the  little  mountain-flower, 

Peeping  forth  in  wintry  hour, 

When  the  summer’s  breath  is  fled, 

And  the  gaudier  flowerets  dead  ; 

So  when  outward  charms  are  gone, 
Brighter  still  doth  blossom  on, 

Despite  Time’s  destroying  dart, 

The  gentle,  kindly  loving  heart. 


1 8 54. 


i^otmt  pleasant  Slcahemb. 


Yet  the  wealth  may  melt  like  snow, 
And  the  wit  no  longer  glow  ; 

But  more  smooth  we’ll  find  the  sea, 
And  our  course  the  fairer  be 
If  our  pilot,  when  we  start, 

Be  a kindly  loving  heart. 

Ye  in  worldly  wisdom  old — 

Ye  who  bow  the  knee  to  gold, — 

Doth  this  earth  as  lovely  seem 
As  it  did  in  Life’s  young  dream, 

Ere  the  world  had  crusted  o’er, 

Feeling  good  and  pure  before — 

Ere  ye  sold  at  Mammon’s  mart 
The  best  yearnings  of  the  heart  ? 

Grant  me,  Heaven,  my  earnest  prayer- 
Wh  ether  life  of  ease  or  care 
Be  the  one  to  be  assigned, 

That  each  coming  year  may  find 
Loving  thoughts  and  gentle  words 
Twined  within  my  bosom’s  chords, 
And  that  age  may  but  impart 
Riper  freshness  to  my  heart ! 


NATURE  AND  THE  DREAMER. 

With  proud  and  lofty  brow  uplit,and  earnest  kindling  eye, 
A poet  dreamer  stood  beneath  the  great  o’er-arching  sky, 
The  setting  sun  was  on  the  sea,  whose  mighty  waters 
rolled, 

With  love  -gifts  from  the  Lord  of  Light,  with  purple  and 
with  gold. 


Sent fj  ^nnibersars* 

18  54. 


i^lQuut  pleasant  Bcafremn. 


In  high  majestic  beauty  crowned,  with  banners  bright 
unfurled, 

Nature  before  the  poet  stood,  a fair  and  wondrous  world  ; 
And  steeped  his  soul  in  bounding  life,  in  rapture  deep 
and  wild, 

So  that  he  felt  once  more  indeed  a simple  joyous  child. 

The  poet  loved  old  Nature  well : the  busy  haunts  of  men, 
He  in  despair  had  madly  fled,  nor  thought  to  seek  again  ; 
Amid  the  far  blue  solitudes  he  poured  a reverent  love, 
Upon  the  mountain  altars,  with  the  watching  heaven  above. 

0 life,  so  free  and  beautiful ! 0 world,  so  strangely  fair ! 
0 trees,  and  flowers,  and  gorgeous  skies  ! 0 glad,  pure 
summer  air ! 

It  is  a rapture  high  to  breathe — a joy,  to  feel  the  sun — 
To  dream  of  life  immortal  still  when  human  life  is  done ! 

Ah,  is  it  thus  ? Then,  surely,  truth  must  reach  that  soul 
of  thine ; 

0 minstrel,  deemest  thou  thyself  than  Nature  more  divine  ? 
Believe  it  still ! for  crowning  joys,  and  sufferings,  and 
death, — 

These  are  thy  proud  prerogatives,  and  these  thy  kingly 
wreath. 

’Tis  thine  to  search  and  comprehend,  the  word  deep 
mysteries, 

Nobler  in  this  than  stars  and  suns,  and  fair  insate  skies. 
The  soul  may  pierce  thro’  earth  and  heaven,  the  beautiful 
sublime, 

And  reign  in  regal  majesty  beyond  the  shores  of  Time. 

Then  was  it  well  to  shun  thy  kind,  to  whom  one  God 
hath  given 

The  same  fair  dreams,  the  same  high  powers,  the  same 
sweet  hopes  of  heaven  ? 




1854. 


iHoutrt  pleasant  Slcatrema?. 


0,  rather  work  together  still — God  smiling  from  above, 
One  Father  and  one  brotherhood  in  sympathy  and  love. 

The  dreamer  felt  the  stern  rebuke — a thousand  harmonies 
Rose  from  the  depth  of  Nature’s  heart,  and  filled  the  air 
and  skies  : 

The  perfume  of  a peace  divine  o’er  all  the  land  was  borne, 
And  in  that  calm  his  soul  laid  down  the  burden  of  its  scorn. 

His  spirit  woke  to  bright  new  life,  to  lofty  counsels  then, 
High  hopes  and  olden  memories  came  o’er  him  once  again, 
His  eye  with  inspiration  glowed,  his  soul  was  flushed 
with  light; 

He  fell  amid  the  ranks  of  men,  to  combat  for  the  right. 


RAP1DITE  DE  LA  VIE. 

Les  hommes  passent  comme  les  fleurs  qui 
s’epanouissent  le  matin,  et  qui  Is  soir  sont  fletries 
et  foulees  aux  pieds.  Les  generations  des  hommes 
s’ecoulent  comme  les  ondes  d’un  fleuve  rapide  ; 
rien  ne  peut  arreter  le  temps,  qui  entraine  apres 
lui  tout  ce  qui  para  it  le  plus  immobile.  Toi- 
meme,  6 mon  fils,  mon  cher  fils,  toi-meme  qui 
jouis  maintenant  d’une  jeunesse  si  vive  et  si 
feconde  en  plaisirs,  souviens-toi  que  ce  bel  age 
n’est  qu’une  fleur  qui  sera  presque  aussitot  sechee 
qu’eclose : tu  te  verras  changer  insensiblement  ; 
les  graces  riantes,  les  doux  plaisirs  qui  t’accom- 
pagnent,  la  force,  la  sante,  la  joie,  s’evanouiront 
comme  un  beau  songe ; il  ne  t’en  restera  qu’un 
triste  souvenir;  la  vieillesse  languissante  et  en- 
nemie  des  plaisirs  viendra  rider  ton  visage 


gluntbersara?, 

18  54. 


Jf$lount  pleasant  gUatoems* 


courber  ton  corps,  affaiblir  tes  membres,  faire  tarir 
dans  ton  coeur  la  source  de  la  joie,  te  degouter  du 
present,  te  faire  craindre  l’avenir,  te  rendre  insen- 
sible a tout,  except  e a la  douleur.  Ce  temps  te 
parait  eloigne.  Helas  ! tu  te  trompes,  mon  fils  ; 
il  se  hate,  le  voila  qui  arrive  : ce  qui  vient  avec 
tant  de  rapidite  n’est  pas  loin  de  toi,  et  le  present 
qui  s’enfuit  est  deja  bien  loin,  puisqu’il  s’aneantit 
dans  le  moment  que  nous  parlons,  et  ne  peut  plus 
se  rapprocher.  Ne  compte  done  jamais,  mon  fils? 
sur  le  present ; mais  soutiens-toi  dans  le  sentier 
rude  et  apre  de  la  vertu,  par  la  vue  de  l’avenir. 
Prepare-toi,  par  des  mceurs  pures  et  par  Pamour 
de  la  justice,  une  place  dans  Pheureux  sejour  de 
la  paix. 


THE  CZAR  AND  THE  SULTAN. 

THE  SULTAN. 

The  Sultan  sat  in  his  grand  divan, 

As  only  a tailor  or  Mussulman  can, 

With  his  legs  across  and  his  knees  asunder, 

Arid  his  feet  out  of  sight,  tucked  neatly  under. 
The  Sultan  sits  in  his  tight  surtout, 

Button’d  up  to  his  throat,  and  of  plain  dark  blue, 
With  a scarf  of  the  finest  cashmere  tied 
Round  his  waist,  and  the  ends  flowing  loose  at 
his  side ; 

And  trowsers.of  crimson,  embroidered  with  lace, 
And  remarkable  only  for  plenty  of  space  ; 

While  jauntily  stuck  on  his  Majesty’s  head, 

Is  a little  fez  cap  of  the  brightest  of  red. 


Etntf)  griimbersatrs 


In  silence  smokes  the  Sultan  there, 

With  a changeless  fair,  and  outward  air 
Of  a man  without  a thought  or  care. 

It ’s  certainly  true 
That  the  Sultan  knew 
His  affairs  have  begun  to  look  terribly  blue ; 

That  his  people,  his  throne, 

His  crown, — let  alone 

The  head  that  is  in  it, — may  soon  be  o’erthrown  ; 
And  he  owns  in  his  heart  that  the  dolefullest 
“phiz”  he  e’er 

Saw  in  his  lifetime  is  that  of  the  Vizier. 

The  Vizier  enters  the  grand  divan, — 

A dried  up,  yellow  face,  ancient  man ; 

And  he  makes  a formal,  deep  salaam, 

And  tries  to  look  quiet,  unmoved,  and  calm ; 

But  the  Vizier’s  heart  in  his  breast  is  thumping ; 
As  hard  as  a pavior  the  granite  bumping, 

And  when  the  Vizier  has  done  his  bow, 

The  Sultan  says,  with  an  unchanged  brow, 

As  he  puffed  a cloud,  “ Well,  what’s  the  row?” — 
“ Sublimest  of  rulers  !”  the  Vizier  begins, 

“ Great  monarch  of  monarchs ! may  all  of  my  sins 
Be  forever  unpardoned  by  Allah,  if  I, 

Your  sublimity’s  slave,  tell  your  highness  a lie  ! 
The  Russians — ” “ I thought  so,”  the  Sultan  says, 
As  he  strokes  his  beard  and  shifts  his  fez, 

“ Whenever  I see  any  minister  come 
With  a face  such  as  your’s  is, — so  long  and  so 
glum,— 

I know  that  I’m  booked  for  a long  dissertation 
About  that  infernal,  detestable  nation. 

If  I’m  monarch  of  monarchs,  (as  all  Sultans  are 


(Ecnti)  ghimbersarn. 


1 8 54. 


Why  the  deuce  don’t  you  bring  me  the  head  of 
the  Czar?” 

Then  up  jumped  the  Vizier, 

His  head  growing  dizzier, 

And  firmly  resolved  to  blurt  out  the  truth  ; 

And  he  says,  in  a tone 
’Twixt  a sigh  and  a groan, 

“ Great  monarch,  the  Russians  have  crossed  the 
Pruth  !” 

The  Sultan  takes  a tremendous  whiff, 

In  the  style  that  the  vulgar  call  “ drawing  it  stiff,” 
And  watching  the  smoky  clouds  gracefully  wave, 
Observes,  with  decision,  “The  mischief  they 
have !” 

THE  CZAR. 

Czar  Nicholas  sits  in  his  large  arm-chair, 

With  his  eyes  on  the  floor  in  a steady  stare. 

In  his  grand  cuirass  of  polished  steel, 

And  his  long  jack-boots,  with  spurs  at  the  heel. 
And  he  scratches  his  ears,  and  bites  his  nails, 
And  from  under  his  seat  he  pulls  his  tails. 

Over  the  stones, 

At  the  risk  of  his  bones, 

At  a gallop  speeds  Nesselrode’s  carriage  along  ; 
To  the  palace  he  goes, 

And  the  minister  knows 
Czar  Nicholas  isn’t  a man  to  wait  long. 
Nesselrode  enters  the  Emperor’s  hall, 

Nesselrode’s  eyes  on  the  Emperor  fall. 

“Touching  the  Turk  and  his  grand  commotion, 

I think,  Count  N.,  that  I ’ve  got  a new  notion.” 
Nesselrode  thinks,  if  he  has,  ’tis  strange, 


Sent!)  ^mtibersavg 

1 8 54. 


i&outtt  pleasant  ^caUemg 


The  thing’s  so  “used  up,”  that  the  glimpse  of  a 
change 

In  any  one’s  views,  on  a subject  so  flat, 

Must  be  rare  as  plain  truth, — or  a Turk  in  the  hat. 
“ It’s  remarkably  clear  that  our  actions  all  tally 
With  what  we’ve  professed — there’s  been  no 
shilly-shally ; 

Well,  that  being  settled,  suppose  we  proclaim 
To  all  people  the  justice  and  truth  of  our  claim ; 
Send  round  to  the  several  courts  of  each  nation 
A defying  and  bullying  grand  proclamation. 

We  would’nt  call  it  that,  by-the-bye  ; p’rhaps  we’d 
better 

Bestow  on’t  the  name  of  a ‘ circular  letter.’  ” 

So  Nesselrode  mildly  suggests  a doubt, 

As  to  how  might  the  end  of  the  thing  turn  out : 
u Would  his  Majesty  please  explain  more  fully 
In  what  way,  and  whom,  he  proposes  to  bully?” 
(C  All  Europe,  of  course,  all  the  world,  every  soul, 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  from  the  Line  to 
each  Pole! 

I’ll  frighten  them  all  into  fits  ; the  mere  shaking 
Of  Russia’s  big  fist  will  set  them  all  quaking. 
John  Bull,  with  his  blustering  airs,  the  old 
rogue,  he 

Fears  Russia  as  much  as  a child  fears  a bogy, 
While  his  neighbor,  the  newly-fledged  Emperor, 
drat  him, — 

Between  you  and  me,  I should  like  to  get  at  him. 
Take  an  Emperor’s  word,  you’ll  alarm  the  whole 
pack  of  them.” 

Count  Nesselrode’s  posed,  he’s  completely  con- 
founded : 


£enttj  gnmbersarw* 


1 85  4. 


35 


J&ouut  pleasant  ^catremw, 


Insulting  all  Europe  he  doesn’t  think  wrong, 

But  suggests  that  it’s  “coming  it  rather  too  strong.” 
“ Not  a bit,  not  a bit, 

It’s  strong, — that’s  just  it. 

In  the  face  of  all  Europe  I venture  to  spit 
So  take  up  your  quill, 

Write  away,  sir,  until 

You’ve  taught  all  the  nations  a bit  of  my  will ; 
And  don’t  be  too  nice, — 

Put  in  plenty  of  spice.” 

Czar  Nicholas  sits  in  his  chair  again, 

In  a great  cuirass,  but  it’s  certainly  plain 
Czar  Nicholas  isn’t  in  quite  such  glee 
As  his  Majesty  whilome  was  wont  to  be. 

He’s  gnawing  his  thumb, 

He’s  looking  half  glum, 

And  for  several  minutes  sits  perfectly  dumb ; 
While  Nesselrode,  there, 

In  the  opposite  chair, 

Twirls  his  fingers  with  quite  an  abstracted  air. 
Czar  Nicholas  “ hems,”  and  clears  his  throat, 

And  mutters  some  words  about  “ drawing  a note.” 
Nesselrode  rouses,  and  pricks  up  his  ears, 

By  no  means  quite  sure  if  he  rightly  hears. 

“ But  is’t  in  his  Majesty’s  contemplation 
To  concoct  any  further  and  fresh  proclamation  ? ” 
“Proclamation  be — never  mind  what,  it’s  not  that. 
I’m  thinking  I’m  not  quite  such  a flat 
As  to  let  you  go  trying  your  hand  at  a second, 
The  harm  of  your  first,  sir,  ’s  not  easily  reckoned.” 
Nesselrode  scarcely  restrains  a cry, 

Which  sounds  remarkably  like  “ Oh  my  ! ” 

As  he  thinks  with  a pang  and  heart-drawn  sigh 


<£entf)  ^wmbersarg. 


1854. 


Of  imperial  gratitude,  laying  the  blame 
On  his  shoulders, — well  knowing  he  could’nt  dis- 
claim 

The  “ circular  letter,”  as  bearing  his  name. 

“Look  here !”  says  the  Czar,  “let  us  see  how  we 
stand ; 

We’re  deserted  and  threatened  on  every  hand. 
There  are  England  and  France  swearing  firmest 
alliance 

To  back  up  the  Porte,  and  set  us  at  defiance  ; 
There’s  Austria,  too,  even  ventures  to  double, 
(Catch  me  ever  again  helping  him  out  of  trouble!) 
But  Austria  doesn’t  like  fighting, — I know  it, 

He  hasn’t  the  pluck,  but  he  don’t  like  to  show  it ; 
I know  him, — in  spite  of  his  valorous  look, — 

To  quarrel  with  me  won’t  at  all  suit  his  book. 
Let  us  draw  up  an  “ accommodating  note.” 

And  as  soon  as  the  paper  is  set  afloat, 

Austria  shall  back  it, — all  Europe  lay  claim  to  it 
As  theirs, — and  the  Sultan  will  soon  put  his  name 
to  it. 

Let  Austria  and  me  just  manage  the  work : 

It’s  odd  if,  between  us,  we  don’t  sell  the  Turk.” 


THE  SULTAN. 


The  Sultan  sits  in  his  grand  divan, 

As  the  Sultan  sat  when  our  tale  began, 

And  his  Vizier  is  there,  and  he  bows  and  scrapes, 
And  hands  up  a paper  bound  round  with  tapes, 
And  inscribed,  “To  the  Sultan,  with  Austria’s 
respects.” 

And  the  Sultan  reads  through  it,  looks  half  per- 
plex’d, 


&entl)  &mubersarw. 


1 8 54. 


i^ount  pleasant  0catremw. 


And  then  pitches  it  from  him  and  growls,  “ What 
next? 

Sign  that ! put  my  name  to  that  note  ! a nice  chap 

Is  Austria  indeed  to  have  laid  such  a trap. 

A pretty  bright  flame  through  all  Turkey  ’twould 
kindle, 

If  I signed  such  a thing.  It’s  a regular  swindle; 

A case  of  “ note  stealing,”  which  Austria’s  con- 
niving at ; 

And  they  think  I’m  so  blind  I can’t  see  what 
they’re  driving  at. 

They’ll  find  their  mistake, — I’ll  do  only  what’s 
right, 

And  I won’t  be  bamboozled,  so  that  cock  won’t 
fight.” 


THE  CZAR. 

Again  Czar  Nicholas  sits  in  his  chair, 

And  under  his  breath  he’s  heard  to  swear 
About  “ blessed” yound  Turks,  and  their  wonderful 
keenness, 

And  Austrian  humbug,  ingratitude,  meanness ; 
And  French  animosity,  parvenu  crowned  heads, 
And  English  monarco-republican  “roundheads;” 
And  Prussian  neutrality, 

And  the  wretched  fatality, 

That  nobody  meets  him  with  real  cordiality, 
While  ev’ry  one’s  talking  about  Russian  rascality. 
Nesselrode  comes  in  a deuce  of  a fright, 

His  teeth  on  a chatter,  his  face  all  white. 

And  he  stutters  and  chokes  at  the  news  he  tells, 

“ The  fleet  has  entered  the  Dardanelles  ! ! ” 
Nicholas  starts,  and  his  great  big  chest 


®entf)  Slttmbersnrs. 

in 

SKSKrf,  . 


1 854. 


irHmmt  pleasant  &catiemf> 


By  the  great  cuirass  feels  quite  opprest, 

While  his  knees  and  his  legs  half  shaky  feel 
In  his  long  jack-boots  with  the  spurs  at  the  heel, 
Till  at  length  he  asks,  with  a ray  of  hope, 

“ Count  Nesselrode,  how  are  we  off  for  soap?” 

No  lips  ever  uttered  a deeper  sigh, 

No  tear  ever  glistened  in  sadder  eye, 

No  heart  in  a breast  ever  louder  thump’d, 

Than  Count  N.’s,  as  he  answered,  “ Completely 
stump’d.” 

“ By  Jove  !”  says  the  Czar,  “ Then  we’  are  in  a 
wrong  box, 

No  friends  out  of  doors,  and  no  tin  in  the  strong 
box.” 


THE  OLD  YEAR. 

The  Old  Year  paused  when  his  race  was  run, 
And  his  last  day’s  pilgrimage  was  done. 
Twelve  long  months  he  had  held  his  way 
Onward,  onward,  by  night  and  day, 

Caring  not  for  the  cares  of  earth, 

Mirthful  not  with  its  scenes  of  mirth  ; 

“ Hasting  not,  resting  not,”  on  he  went, 

Like  a star  in  the  lofty  firmanent. 

He  started  forth  at  the  dead  of  night, 

An  old  man,  robed  in  the  purest  white, 

With  a long  gray  beard,  and  a hoary  head, 
With  a clear  bright  eye,  and  a stately  tread, 
His  noble  stature  by  age  unbent, 

And  thus  for  months  on  his  way  he  went. 


18  54. 


Then,  as  he  journeyed,  he  cast  away 
His  robe  of  white,  and  his  beard  so  gray  ; 
With  buds  and  blossoms  he  wreathed  his  head, 
And  a bright  green  mantle  around  him  spread, 
To  greet  his  coming  the  flow’rets  sprang, 

And  the  air  with  the  birds’  glad  music  rang  ; 
For  the  foot  which  trampled  to  dust  again, 

The  budding  hopes  of  the  sons  of  men, 

The  foot  which  hurried  with  careless  stride 
O’er  the  ruins  of  humane  love  and  pride — 
That  foot  passed  on  with  its  soft,  quick  tread, 
Calling  each  blossom  from  sylvan  bed, 
Waking  to  life,  as  at  second  birth, 

The  bright  and  beautiful  forms  of  earth. 

Then  with  a graceful,  yet  firmer  tread, 

With  lilies  and  vine-leaves  garlanded, 

The  wanderer  passed  in  his  silent  race, 

O’er  many  a verdant  and  lovely  place, 

Giving  earth’s  treasures  a brighter  bloom,. 
Giving  man’s  treasures  full  often  a tomb, 
Bathing  all  nature  in  richer  light, 

Shrouding  full  often  the  heart  in  night ; 
Silently  keeping  his  destined  way, 

Onward  he  journeyed  by  night  and  day. 

Then  he  left  behind  his  wreath  of  flowers,. 
With  the  balmy  air  and  the  shady  bowers.. 
And  wove  a garland  his  brow  to  suit, 

Of  purple  leaves  and  of  golden  fruit  ;; 

The  foliage  sere  in  his  pathway  fell, 

Telling  of  sorrow  and  death  too  well. 

But  he  heeded  not  what  hope  or  joy 
His  reckless  footstep  might  destroy  ; 


STcntf)  glmtiberscirg. 


Jtfouut  pleasant  ^catrentg. 


His  path  was  marked,  and  he  trod  the  way, 
Whether  through  sunlight  or  shade  it  lay. 
When  he  had  well-nigh  run  his  race, 

And  saw  before  him  his  resting-place, 

He  donned  the  garment  of  white  once  more, 
And  the  long  gray  beard  which  he  had  before. 

At  last  he  paused,  for  his  race  was  run, 

And  his  last  day’s  pilgrimage  was  done. 

Cold,  and  silence,  and  night,  had  sway, 

When  that  strange  old  wanderer  passed  away  ; 
Darker  than  night,  more  stern  than  snow, 

None  could  follow,  or  see  him  go, 

Yet  men  were  silent,  and  bowed  the  head, 

As  if  the  soul  of  a king  had  fled. 

Though  the  silent  wanderer  took  no  part 
In  the  joys  and  cares  of  the  human  heart, 

Yet  where  is  the  untouched  spirit,  where, 

To  which  he  brought  not,  or  joy,  or  care? 
Never  an  eye  on  his  form  was  cast, 

As  in  silence  and  awfulness  on  he  past, 

That  saw  again  what  it  saw  before, 

When  it  turned  its  glances  to  earth  once  more. 
There  is  not  on  earth  a single  spot 
Which  the  print  of  his  footstep  beareth  not. 

In  the  heart’s  most  secret  and  silent  place 
Has  that  fearful  stranger  left  his  trace  ; 

On  all  that  he  passed,  on  all  that  he  met, 

The  print  of  his  mystic  seal  was  set, 

And  the  impress  of  that  signet  strange, 

Its  wondrous  motto,  was  one  word — “ change .” 
Ah  ! who  can  read  with  an  eye  undim, 

The  stamp  which  that  wanderer  left  on  him. 


&nmbersar». 


1 854. 


jftouut  pleasant  ^catremw* 


He  passed  o’er  all,  ere  his  work  was  done, 

All  save  the  throne  of  the  Changeless  One  ! 

Ah  ! but  the  few  who  drew  boldly  near, 

And  walked  at  the  side  of  the  stern  Old  Year, 
In  his  mantled  form,  in  his  moveless  face, 

Saw  heavenly  beauty,  divinest  grace — 

That  his  calm,  clear  glance,  undimmed  by  tears 
Took  in  all  ages,  and  countless  spheres  ; 

That  his  tireless  step,  so  firm  and  strong 
Moved  to  the  movements  of  heavenly  song ; 
Knew  that  sublime  was  the  path  he  trod. 

Girt  by  angels,  and  straight  to  God. 

And  so  they  followed  where’er  he  led 
’Mid  ruins,  deserts,  and  graves  of  dead  ; 

With  lofty  hope,  and  without  a fear, 

They  kept  by  the  side  of  that  good  Old  Year. 


NATIONAL  HEROISM. 

Introduction by  the  President. 

The  Greeks H.  Millikin,  La. 

The  Romans... D.  McIntosh,  N.  Y. 

The  French B.  Lee,  N.  Y. 

The  English C.  Minturn,  N.  Y. 

The  Americans _ , F.  Zacharie,  La. 

The  Ladies M.  Sorrel,  Ga. 

Decision  by  the  President F.  Kent,  Pa. 


